Roccosiffredi
Angela Vidal, Eros, Rocco Siffredi, Adriano Pic(s)
The humid air clung to their skin like a second secret, thick with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the sweet, illicit perfume of cheap wine. His fingers, tracing the delicate ladder of her spine, found a pulse beating a frantic rhythm agat his thumb, a wild counterpoint to the distant wail of a siren fading into the city’s hum. She arched into his touch, a silent plea, her lips parting to capture his lower lip in a slow, searching kiss that tasted of rebellion and spearmint gum. The single bare bulb overhead swung on its cord, casting long, dancing shadows that turned the cramped space of the attic into a universe of their own making. The rough texture of an old wool blanket scraped agat her bare legs, a sharp, grounding sensation amidst the dizzying swirl of sensation. He murmured her name agat the shell of her ear, his breath a hot promise that sent a visible shiver through her entire body, from the nape of her neck to the soles of her feet. In the half-light, her eyes were dark pools of wanting, reflecting the raw, unvarnished hunger that mirrored his own, a dangerous and beautiful understanding passing between them without a single word. The world outside, with all its rules and consequences, dissolved into the heavy, breathing silence, leaving only the electric friction of skin on skin and the sharp, gasping intake of air. This was a different kind of madness, a delicious chaos born from tangled limbs and racing hearts, a perfect, temporary escape carved out in the shadows.
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