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Christine White, Mugur Pic(s)
The warm, scented mist enveloped her, a silken veil clinging to the fine lines etched by time and laughter around her eyes. She sighed, a deep, resonant sound of release as she lowered herself into the sunken marble tub, the water embracing her skin like a thousand liquid kisses. Submerged to her shoulders, the heat seeped into her muscles, unknotting the tension of years with a patient, persistent pressure. Her hands, resting on the smooth, wet stone, traced the elegant bones of her own hips, a rediscovery of a familiar landscape. The subtle fragrance of jasmine and sandalwood rose from the water, an intoxicating cloud that filled her senses and softened the edges of the world. She let her head tilt back, exposing the long column of her throat to the steamy air, feeling a flush of warmth that had nothing to do with the bath. A single drop of condensation traced a slow, deliberate path from her collarbone down towards the gentle swell of her breast, a tantalizing promise of sensation. Her eyelids fluttered closed, not in sleep, but in a state of heightened awareness, every nerve ending alive to the luxurious caress of the water. In this private sanctuary, she was purely, exquisitely present, a symphony of heat and quiet pleasure.
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