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Francesca Felucci, Chris Streams Pic(s)
The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, thick and heavy like honeyed smoke, as their gazes locked in a silent, primal challenge. His eyes, dark pools of molten desire, traced the delicate curve of her jaw before dropping to the part of her lips, a silent invitation she felt deep within her core. A slow, deliberate step forward closed the distance, the heat from his body a palpable wave that made her skin prickle in anticipation. Her breath hitched as his fingers, feather-light and deliberate, brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek, the touch sending a jolt of electricity straight to her belly. The scent of him, clean soap and something wilder, muskier, filled her senses, drowning out all other thoughts. She could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heart, or perhaps it was her own, a frantic drumbeat echoing in the quiet room. His thumb stroked the line of her throat, a possessive caress that promised both tenderness and raw, unbridled passion. A soft sigh escaped her, a surrender and a demand, as the world narrowed to this single, charged point of contact. Every nerve ending was alive, screaming for more, for the final, inevitable collision of skin agat skin.
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