Amber stepped out of the bathroom in a haze of steam and lingering heat, the air cooler in the hallway but doing nothing to quench the fire still smoldering under her skin.
A single white towel clung to her like a second, sinful skin—oversized Egyptian cotton, plush and expensive, wrapped loosely around her torso so the top edge barely cupped the undersides of her heavy breasts, threatening to slip with every breath from the captive of the towel.
Maybe among the princess, Nastya and Victoria could beat Amber in boobies size challenge.
And the fabric was doing a good job of molding to every curve from the deep valley between her tits, the toned dip of her waist, the dramatic flare of her hips. Water droplets still traced slow, teasing paths down her collarbone, disappearing into the shadowed cleavage where the towel strained to contain her.
