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Alex Coal, Casca Akashova Pic(s)
The room was a sanctuary of hushed whispers and the soft rustle of silk agat skin, where the air itself seemed to thicken with a shared, unspoken longing. Her fingers, tracing a slow, deliberate path along the curve of a collarbone, felt the answering tremor that rippled through the woman beneath her. A scent of jasmine and warm skin filled the space between them, an intoxicating perfume that drew them closer. The only light came from a single candle, its flame dancing in the deep, dark pools of her companion’s eyes, reflecting a hunger that mirrored her own. A soft sigh escaped parted lips as a palm cupped the gentle weight of a breast, the thumb brushing over a peak that hardened tantly to the touch. The world outside ceased to exist, reduced to the map of a body being learned by touch, each sigh and arch of the back a new, thrilling discovery. Lower her hand wandered, following the delicious dip of a waist and the swell of a hip, sinking into the yielding softness there. A name was breathed into the crook of a neck, not a question but a confirmation, a sacred vow sealed as their mouths finally met in a deep, searching kiss. In that merging, there was no seeking anymore, only the profound, aching rightness of being utterly found.
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