Addicted2Girls
Mischa Brooks, Cameron Dee Pic(s)
The familiar space between us, usually filled with laughter and shared secrets, suddenly crackled with a new, unspoken energy as his hand, calloused from years of work, gently cupped my cheek. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, a slow, deliberate stroke that sent a shiver cascading down my spine, pooling low in my belly. I could smell the faint, clean scent of his soap mingling with the warm, masculine aroma that was uniquely his, a fragrance that had always meant safety but now promised something entirely different. Our eyes locked, and the world outside the dimly lit room seemed to dissolve into an indistinct haze, leaving only the intense focus of his gaze holding me captive. He leaned in, his breath a warm caress agat my lips before they finally met mine in a kiss that was not hesitant, but deep and knowing, as if we were simply remembering a language we had always known. My fingers tangled in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until I could feel the solid, steady beat of his heart agat my own frantic rhythm. A low groan escaped him, vibrating through me as his other hand slid to the small of my back, pressing our bodies together in a way that erased the last vestiges of distance between us. Every nerve ending felt alive, hyper-aware of the heat of his skin through our clothes, the possessive pressure of his palm, the intoxicating taste of him that I knew would linger long after. In that suspended moment, the years of friendship seamlessly transformed into this raw, breathtaking intimacy, a silent acknowledgment that this was where we were always meant to be.
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