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Michelle Lay, Sinn Sage Pic(s)
The world narrowed to the space between them, a charged silence broken only by the soft hitch of a breath as her fingers, tentative as a first dawn, traced the delicate line of a collarbone. A shiver, electric and profound, rippled through the recipient, her own hands rising to cradle the offered jaw, thumbs stroking the impossibly soft skin of her cheeks. Their foreheads met, a gentle press that felt more intimate than any kiss, a communion of shared anticipation that thickened the very air. Then, lips parted, not in a rush, but in a slow, searching exploration, a tasting of warmth and the faint, sweet hint of wine. The scent of jasmine from her perfume mingled with the clean, musky aroma of her skin, creating an intoxicating cloud that enveloped them both. A low, approving hum vibrated agat her mouth as a hand slid from a waist to the small of a back, pulling their bodies into a seamless alignment. Through the thin barrier of silk, the heat of her was a palpable promise, a furnace stoked by the slow, rhythmic roll of hips beginning to move in a primal, unconscious rhythm. Fingertips found the zipper, a metallic whisper in the quiet room, and followed its path downwards, revealing a landscape of smooth, warm flesh that trembled under the touch. In that suspended moment, every nerve ending was alight, a constellation of desire mapping the journey from a first glance to this breathless, yielding surrender.
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