21Naturals
Cornelia, Renato Pic(s)
In the hushed stillness of the servants’ quarters, long after the household had surrendered to slumber, their clandestine world would ignite with stolen breaths and feverish whispers. His calloused hands, still faintly smelling of saddle leather and polish, traced the delicate architecture of her spine as she arched agat the rough linen sheets. The air grew thick with the scent of their mingled sweat and the faint, sweet perfume of beeswax candles guttering in their brass holders. Every furtive touch was a silent rebellion, a map of desire charted across skin usually hidden beneath a starched uniform. Her soft moans were swallowed by the press of his mouth, a taste of stolen wine and desperate longing on his tongue. Fingers tangled in hair freed from its proper p, each strand a dark ribbon agat the pale moonlight filtering through the solitary window. The coarse wool blanket scratched at her bare legs, a stark, thrilling contrast to the liquid heat pooling low in her belly with every deliberate, rocking motion. In these hidden hours, they were not master and servant, but simply a man and a woman consumed by a fire that threatened to burn their carefully constructed lives to ashes. This secret communion, a tapestry woven from risk and rapture, was the only truth that mattered in the deep, conspiratorial night.
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