The Trophy Wife and the Gentle Giant

Mon, 08 Jun 2026 14:04:00 +0000

Stiles stepped out of the shower, the steam curling around her like a lover’s breath, fogging up the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror in her luxurious bathroom. She was 25, but her body looked like it had been sculpted by some divine artist with a penchant for sin. Her skin was porcelain white, flawless and smooth, glowing under the soft lights of the penthouse suite she called home. She patted herself dry with a plush towel, her full pink lips curving into a gentle smile as she caught her reflection. God, she was beautiful—long, silky black hair cascading down her back, framing a face that could stop traffic: high cheekbones, wide doe eyes fringed with thick lashes, and those lips that always looked like they’d just been kissed swollen.