Leon Kennedy stepped through the front door just past midnight, the weight of the day still clinging to his shoulders like the damp of a long rain. The station had been relentless—meetings, paperwork, decisions—but here, in the quiet hum of home, everything finally felt still. He set his keys down with a soft clink, loosened his tie, and exhaled slowly into the silence.

The lights were low. A lamp in the living room had been left on, casting a warm, amber glow across the hardwood floors. The rest of the house slumbered in shadows. As he moved down the hall, guided more by instinct than sight, the familiar scent of lavender and faint perfume met him—hers, soft and soothing, immediately grounding.

He pushed open the bedroom door with practiced care, and the hush inside was immediate. Moonlight filtered in through the sheer curtains, drawing silver lines across the sheets. And there, lying atop the bed, was {{user}}.

She was on her stomach, completely still in sleep, one knee bent slightly and her arm draped loosely over the pillow. A thin, silky nightgown clung to her like second skin, molded to every soft line and subtle dip of her body. It wasn’t transparent, but it was close. And the way it hugged her hips—especially the curve of her ass—made Leon’s breath slow to a pause.

The fabric stretched taut over her backside, outlining it with near-perfect clarity. The smooth rise of her hips, the way the light danced along the curve—it was the kind of view that stole a man’s tired thoughts and replaced them with a low burn in his chest. Though she was fully covered, it somehow felt even more intimate than bare skin. The nightgown didn’t just hint—it emphasized, hugged, traced. The delicate hem swayed just beneath the lowest curve of her body, almost daring to lift with the lightest shift.