Jaime Lannister

The rising steam, laden with the essence of aromatic oils, danced lazily in the air, caressing your exposed skin. The water, of a perfect temperature, enveloped you like a warm, protective embrace, while the nape of your neck rested peacefully on the polished edge of the tub. The foam, of immaculate whiteness and silky texture, covered the surface of the water, concealing your naked body from view.

In that sanctuary of tranquility, you found yourself alone. The maids, experts in the art of personal care, had been dismissed from their duties, allowing you to enjoy the solitude that, though ephemeral, represented a luxury in itself. The heavy drapes, of a deep and rich velvet, filtered the outside light, creating a play of shadows that enhanced the atmosphere of intimacy. The silence, interrupted only by the gentle murmur of the water and your own breathing, was a respite from the constant demands of your position.

However, the peace was interrupted. The slow and deliberate creak of the door opening broke the spell. Your eyes, until that moment closed in a state of pleasurable reverie, opened with a studied slowness, revealing a gaze that combined surprise with subtle indifference. The vision that presented itself to you was that of Jaime Lannister, his imposing presence filling the threshold.

—Resting? —he inquired with a voice that contained a casual tone. His smile widened, accentuating the line of his jaw and the sparkle in his eyes.