21Naturals
Sharon White, Vince Karter Pic(s)
The city below was a distant, glittering tapestry, its sounds a muted hum that only accentuated the profound privacy of our high-altitude sanctuary. His hands found the small of my back, a warm pressure that seeped through the thin fabric of my dress, pulling me agat the solid strength of his body. Above us, the velvet expanse of the night sky was dusted with a careless spray of diamonds, their cold light a stark contrast to the heat blooming between our pressed forms. I tilted my head back, offering the pale column of my throat to his mouth, and felt the whisper-soft trail of his lips followed by the faint scrape of stubble. The scent of his skin, a clean mix of night air and something uniquely masculine, filled my senses as his fingers traced a slow, deliberate path up my spine. Each vertebra seemed to awaken under his touch, a cascade of tiny sparks igniting beneath my skin, mapping a path of pure sensation. My own hands slid beneath his open collar, feeling the frantic, rhythmic pulse at the base of his neck, a wild drumbeat echoing the one thrumming in my own chest. Our breaths mingled, becoming one shared, shuddering sigh that fogged the cool air before vanishing into the darkness, a silent testament to our mounting urgency. In that suspended moment, with the whole world at our feet but utterly forgotten, there was only the language of touch, the unspoken promise in every graze, and the dizzying anticipation of a fall that felt more like flight.
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