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The fading sun cast long, liquid shadows across the rumpled sheets, gilding the fine sheen of sweat on our tangled limbs. His hand, warm and possessive, traced a slow path from the hollow of my throat down to the gentle curve of my hip, each calloused fingertip a brand of pure sensation. I arched into his touch, a silent plea for more, my own fingers tangling in the damp hair at the nape of his neck. The scent of salt air from the open balcony wove with our own intimate musk, a perfume of fleeting passion and sun-drenched afternoons. He murmured something low and rough agat my ear, the words lost but the vibration a thrilling promise that coiled deep within me. My lips found the strong column of his throat, tasting the ocean and the echo of our frantic coupling. Every nerve ending felt alive, hyper-aware of the weight of his body, the scratch of stubble agat my cheek, the way the world outside had simply ceased to exist. This was a stolen moment outside of time, a secret written on skin with sighs and trembling touches. A final, shuddering breath escaped me as his mouth reclaimed mine, sealing the unspoken agreement that this was all we would ever have, and it was everything.
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