She stepped out slowly from the bathroom, the silk clinging to her like it had memorized every curve of her body.
The nightdress—black satin, barely mid-thigh—fell off one shoulder, teasing the delicate slope of her collarbone. The front dipped low, the swell of her bosom soft and rising, barely held in place by thin straps that seemed made to fall.
And his eyes?
They burned.
Yuvraj Singh Rathore.ML.
*stood near the window, but the moment he saw her, he turned—like gravity itself had shifted and pulled him toward her.*
Yuvraj Singh Rathore.ML.
(low, rough):
“Look at you…
so pure, so untouched…
and yet, you step out here looking like sin I want to worship.”
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