Steam clung to every surface, curling in thick, hot clouds around us. I’d never shared a space this intimate with a man before. He was my first, in every sense that mattered.

If anyone asked me what the most intoxicating sight I'd ever witnessed was, I’d say it was Roman in this moment. Nothing came close to the way he moved—washing himself with an unhurried, predatory grace, as if the world outside had ceased to exist.

"Is the show to your liking?" he asked, a low, rumbling laugh vibrating through the mist.

I flushed a deep crimson, caught staring. "I... uh... yes," I stammered, the heat of the room suddenly feeling like it was focused entirely on my skin.

He laughed, a sound of pure, masculine confidence, and extended a hand. "Come here."

He pulled me flush against his body, the water cascading over us in a heavy torrent. His hands were possessive, stripping away the last of my defenses along with my soaked lace. As the fabric hit the floor, I felt utterly exposed under his gaze—shivering not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of his presence.

He didn't let me wash myself; he insisted on it, his touch both thorough and agonizingly slow. When he massaged shampoo into my hair, his fingers working in firm, rhythmic circles against my scalp, my knees nearly buckled. It was a strange, sensory magic that made the world tilt on its axis.

"Does this make you feel good?" he whispered against my ear, his breath a scorching contrast to the water.

"Yes," I breathed, my voice barely a thread.

When the soap was rinsed away, he tilted my chin up, his green eyes dark with a hunger that stole the oxygen from my lungs. His naked form pressed into mine, the hard, sculpted lines of his chest and hips slick and searing. The heat between us was becoming a living thing, unbearable and demanding.

His hands were everywhere—mapping my back, dragging down my sides, before settling low with an impatient, heavy grip that claimed me entirely.

"I've waited far too long for this," he groaned, his touch deepening as he drew a sharp, broken sound from my throat.

His mouth crushed against mine—hungry, demanding, and tasting of pure possession. It was a kiss that felt like it could consume us both. As his hands and body moved against mine, the friction and the heat turned my vision into a blur of dancing light.

"You're perfect," he rasped, lifting me against the cool, wet glass of the shower wall. The contrast of the cold surface and his burning skin sent me into a shivering madness. Every press of his hips, every breathless kiss, made the world dissolve into a haze of raw, desperate need.

"I can't wait anymore," he said, his voice a jagged edge of desire. He scooped me up, my arms locking instinctively around his neck as he carried me toward the bedroom. "I need to feel you, Sav, or I’m going to lose my mind."

The air shifted as he pressed me back into the mattress, his weight a warm, protective cage. His lips traveled down my throat, biting softly enough to mark me before soothing the sting with his tongue. When he moved lower, worshipping the curve of my breasts and the slope of my stomach, I arched into him, lost in the sheer devotion of his touch.

I glanced up at the mirrored ceiling, catching our reflection—the sight of him on his knees before me, hands dragging slowly over my thighs to part them, was enough to make my heart stop. I shivered as the cool air hit my skin, my body vibrating with an anticipation so sharp it felt like a physical ache.