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Mona Blue, Renato Pic(s)
The air between them crackled, a silent storm of unspoken history and a dangerous, magnetic pull. His gaze, heavy-lidded and knowing, traced the frantic pulse at the base of her throat, a tiny betraying drumbeat agat her pale skin. A slow, deliberate smile curved his lips, not quite reaching the cool assessment in his eyes as he closed the distance, the heat of his body a palpable wave that preceded the brush of his knuckles agat her jaw. The scent of him—clean soap, warm skin, and something uniquely, intoxicatingly male—wrapped around her, clouding reason and sharpening sensation. Her breath hitched as his thumb swept across her lower lip, a feather-light caress that sent a jolt straight to her core, awakening a deep, throbbing ache. The fine wool of his sleeve whispered agat her bare arm, a maddening contrast to the deliberate, possessive pressure of his hand sliding to the small of her back, pulling her flush agat the hard line of his body. In that suspended moment, the line between a cherished memory and a present threat blurred into irrelevance, every nerve ending alight with the terrifying thrill of his proximity. She could feel the powerful rhythm of his heart through the layers of clothing, a steady counterpoint to her own frantic tempo, a silent question hanging in the charged space between their almost-touching mouths. This was not a simple greeting, but a reclaiming, a challenge, and a promise of something complex and utterly consuming that was about to unfold.
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