Steam clung to Sarah like a second skin as she emerged from the bathroom, the scent of soap and warm, clean womanhood preceding her. Her hair, still damp, hung in heavy, dark waves that plastered delicate tendrils to the elegant column of her neck and dewy temples. Tiny droplets caught the low hallway light, tracing liquid paths down her collarbone and disappearing beneath the robe's neckline.
The robe itself was a study in whispered temptation. Crafted from a fabric so sheer it seemed spun from moonlight and shadows, it draped her form without revealing everything yet hinted at everything.
Its fluid cut clung lovingly to her figure, sketching the subtle, sweeping curve of her waist before flaring gently over her hips.
The distinct lack of a bra was evident – not in a crude display, but in the soft, undeniable weight of her breasts molding the silk. The full, rounded swells were rendered exquisitely by the thin fabric, their natural shape and gentle slope a testament to youth.
