The woman seemed completely out of sync with the modern world—her appearance, attire, and demeanor reminiscent of the eighteenth century. The eerie silence of the old treehouse made it feel as though she was one of those mythical "witches" enchanting him.
In this dim setting, everything faded into the background except for her.
Her body was flawless, with porcelain skin, curvaceous and alluring. Her upright chest had enticing rose-red peaks, and a golden ornament partially concealed her private area.
Ernie was no saint; his gaze lingered over her body, torn between confusion and desire.
Instinctively, he wanted to touch her skin, and her half-closed eyes and tilted neck seemed to invite a passionate encounter.
Just as he was about to be bewitched by her seductive gaze, the cold feel o
