Puretaboo
Karla Kush, Chad Alva Pic(s)
The first true moment of solitude arrived as the sun bled its final gold across the tranquil bay, our private villa perched above the water like a secret. His hand found the small of my back, a warm, possessive weight that sent a shiver through the thin silk of my robe, a silent promise of the night to come. The air itself was thick with the perfume of night-blooming jasmine and the distant, salty kiss of the sea, a fragrance that clung to our skin. I turned into his embrace, my fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw before tangling in the dark hair at his nape, pulling him down to meet my hungry mouth. Our kiss was not gentle, but a deep, searching exploration, tasting of the ripe mango we had shared and the intoxicating freedom of this hidden place. The gentle lapping of waves agat the shore below became the rhythm for the slow, deliberate way his hands began to roam, sliding the silk from my shoulders to pool at our feet. The warm, humid breeze caressed my newly bared skin, a sensation both startling and delicious, making every nerve ending hum with anticipation. He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me towards the vast bed where mosquito nets hung like ghostly curta, and the world narrowed to the heat of his body agat mine. In that suspended twilight, with the stars beginning to pepper the velvety sky, our adventure truly began, a wordless conversation of touch and breath and shared, rising heat.
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