Nurumassage
April Snow, Oliver Davis Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the unspoken dare that hung between them. A slow, deliberate smile curved his lips, not reaching his eyes which remained locked on hers with an unnerving intensity. He took a single step forward, the sound of his shoe on the floorboards a stark punctuation in the silence, closing the distance just enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body. Her breath hitched, a tiny, betraying sound as the scent of his skin, clean and faintly of sandalwood, filled her senses. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she felt the phantom pressure of it as if he had already claimed it, a promise of possession that made her knees weaken. The pad of his thumb brushed agat the pulse hammering at the base of her throat, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver cascading down her spine. She could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the subtle shift of muscle in his forearm as he raised his hand to cradle the side of her face. This was the moment of truth, the precipice where a single word could shatter the tension or plunge them both into the unknown. Leaning in, his whisper was a warm caress agat her ear, the words not a question but a statement of inevitable conclusion.
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