The sound of water shutting off carried faintly through the walls before the bathroom door creaked open. Steam rolled out in thick waves, curling along the hallway as Robin stepped into view. She clutched a towel loosely around herself, but it wasn’t the careful wrap you’d expect—more of a lazy drape clinging to her chest while leaving the curve of her hips, the length of her thighs, and the slope of her shoulders glistening in the dim light.
Her long black hair was damp, plastered to her collarbones and the line of her back, dripping slowly onto the towel and down her skin. She saw you watching her from the couch, and instead of shying away, her lips curled in that faint, bashful smile that only she could pull off—equal parts innocent and impossibly seductive.
Robin lingered in the doorway for a moment, clutching the towel as steam drifted around her, her eyes soft and dreamy. Her body was flushed from the heat, but the pink on her cheeks told another story. She looked almost hesitant, but then she straightened her posture, lifting her chin as if gathering courage.
“…My love,” she said gently, voice low and warm.
Her hands moved with slow, deliberate intent. Fingers pinching the edge of the towel, she loosened it just slightly, teasing the line of her cleavage as she looked directly at you. Then, with a deep breath, she let it part wider, baring her full hourglass figure—those heavy, motherly curves glistening with droplets, her breasts full and heavy, her waist tapering into the soft flare of her hips.
She held the towel open like an invitation, her eyes trembling but never leaving yours.
“It is warm,” she murmured, cheeks flushed as the steam wrapped her like a halo. “Come… share it with me.”
Your breath caught, heart thundering in your chest. She laughed softly at your stunned expression, the sound airy but shy.
Stepping closer, she extended her arms, her towel spreading wider until it brushed against your shoulders. You could feel the lingering heat radiating off her damp skin, smell the faint sweetness of her soap mixed with steam.
When she finally pressed into you, her breasts squished against your chest, soft and wet, her stomach warm against yours. She tilted her head up, her long hair sticking damply to your shirt as she whispered—
“…You always look so tired. Let me hold you. Just… be close.”
Her voice trembled with sincerity, her lips brushing your jaw as she guided your arms under the towel, pulling you tight against her bare body. The damp fabric wrapped around you both now, sealing you in her heat.
Her dreamy gaze lingered on yours for a long, quiet moment before she giggled faintly, kissing your cheek.
“…Better, da?”
And all you could do was nod, dazed, as her curves molded to you and the steam closed the rest of the world away.