Wicked
Angela White, Seth Gamble Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the warmth of two bodies drawn into a shared orbit. His hands, broad and deliberate, found the gentle curve of her waist, and a sigh escaped her lips as if a long-held breath was finally released. The sensation was not of possession but of completion, a seamless joining where her softness yielded to the firm contours of his frame. Every point of contact sang a quiet, electric hum, from the press of his chest agat her back to the way her hips settled into the cradle of his own. She could feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat through the thin fabric of her dress, a primal drumbeat syncing with the quickening pulse in her own throat. The scent of his skin, clean and faintly musky, filled her senses, mingling with the floral whisper of her perfume to create an intoxicating new fragrance. There was no space for thought, only for feeling this profound alignment, as if two separate puzzles had become one coherent picture. A slow, deliberate shift of his leg between hers sent a wave of liquid heat radiating through her core, promising a deeper intimacy to come. In that suspended moment, the world narrowed to the exquisite truth of their connection, a flawless symmetry that felt both destined and entirely new.
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