Everything was happening in slow motion.
The steam curled around her, wrapping her in a hazy glow as she stepped further into the room.
The dim lighting of the suite made the water droplets on her skin glisten, sliding slowly down the hard lines of her stomach, tracing over the ink of her tattoos like they were following a path only they could see.
My brain? Completely useless.
My eyes? Absolutely traitorous.
I couldn't stop staring.
The way her muscles shifted with every lazy step, how effortlessly confident she looked, how unbothered she was being practically naked in front of me.
She lifted an arm to towel-dry her damp hair, and my gaze involuntarily trailed up the sharp lines of her biceps to her collarbones, down to the deep cut of her waist where the towel sat just barely secured on her hips.
I was suffocating.
I was going to die.
