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Cherie DeVille, Anikka Albrite Pic(s)
The heavy door clicked shut, muffling the distant city hum and enclosing them in a sanctuary of soft, golden light. His hands, warm and sure, found the curve of her lower back, drawing her agat the solid strength of his frame until the fine wool of his suit brushed her bare shoulders. A slow, deliberate kiss began at the corner of her mouth, a whisper of pressure that promised everything, before his lips finally claimed hers with a deep, searching hunger. The scent of his skin, a clean mix of soap and night air, filled her senses as her fingers tangled in the thick silk of his hair. She felt the hard planes of his chest through the thin fabric of her dress, a thrilling contrast to the yielding softness of the plush carpet beneath her sinking heels. A low murmur escaped his throat, a vibration she felt more than heard, as his palm slid down to cradle the swell of her hip, pulling her even closer. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, to the electric slide of his tongue agat hers and the frantic, answering beat of her own heart. Every nerve ending awoke, singing with the anticipation of his touch exploring further, of garments loosening and falling away into the warm, shadowed room. In that suspended moment, there was only the shared breath, the building heat, and the unspoken vow of pleasure yet to unfold.
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