I was in the bathroom, finishing the last step of my skincare routine. The soft light reflected in the mirror, giving my face a tranquil, almost serene glow. I was putting on my light pajamas, ready for my moment of rest, when I heard silent footsteps behind me. Before I even saw him, I felt it. The warmth of his body approaching… slowly… as if he were in no hurry to interrupt my ritual. He stopped so close that the air between us became thick, charged with intention. His hands touched my waist—first over the soft fabric of my pajamas. A slow touch, just enough to send shivers down my spine. I took a deep breath, and in the mirror's reflection I saw his gaze: that gaze that said everything without saying anything. He slid his hands along the contours of my body, following each curve, each detail he already knew by heart. Sometimes over the fabric. Sometimes… underneath. The tips of his fingers found the warmth of my skin, and my body reacted without me being able to stop it. A subtle, delicious wave ran down my spine. He pulled me slightly against him, his chest pressed against my back, and I felt his scent, his touch, his presence—all at once. His movements were slow, provocative, like someone who knows exactly the rhythm that awakens each sensation. He didn't say a word; he just explored, guiding his hands as if my body were a path he loved to travel. And I… I allowed myself to feel. Every touch. Every approach. Every second of that moment that seemed suspended in the air. The low light in the bathroom made everything more intimate, as if the world inside had shrunk to fit only the two of us. He moved even closer, his warmth enveloping my back like a blanket of desire. His hands slid down my waist more firmly this time, guided by a silent rhythm that only bodies understood. The thin fabric of my pajama shorts yielded under his touch, rising and falling as his fingers traced slow, exploratory paths, leaving my sensitive skin awake. I instinctively placed my hands on the sink, feeling our breaths mingling. My gaze in the mirror was different—more surrendered, more aroused. He noticed. And he liked it. His fingers found the hem of my shorts and pulled them down slowly, without any hurry, as if savoring every inch was part of the ritual. The fabric slid down my thighs, falling to the floor. The air touched my bare skin, and I shuddered. He smiled against my neck, a warm touch that made my breath catch. The top of my pajamas came next, removed with the same provocative calm, revealing more of me to him—and to the mirror. Now, only the thin panties outlined my body, enhanced by the soft light that created tempting shadows. He pulled me close again, his body aligned with mine, his tension evident, firm, pressing lightly against me… not explicitly, but in a way impossible to ignore. A silent invitation. A promise. I closed my eyes for a second, feeling his slow slide, not directly, but in the warm embrace of our two bodies, as if each movement was designed to provoke exactly that response I couldn't hide. The atmosphere became dense. Charged. Electric. Everything in that moment said the same thing: there was no turning back from there... TO BE CONTINUED...