Mommysgirl
Gianna Dior, Rachael Cavalli Pic(s)
The first touch was a spark, a sudden ignition that traveled from the point of contact along every nerve ending. His fingers, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone, felt the answering tremor that ran through her frame, a silent conversation of skin agat skin. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of warm skin and the faint, intoxicating perfume of desire. Her breath hitched as his palm slid down, a slow, deliberate journey over the curve of her shoulder, the heat of his hand seeping through the thin fabric of her dress. A soft sigh escaped her lips, a sound that was both surrender and invitation, lost in the quiet darkness of the room. He leaned in, his lips finding the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat, and she arched into him, her own hands moving to tangle in his hair. The world outside ceased to exist, reduced to the map of sensation they were charting on each other’s bodies. Every movement was a deliberate exploration, a building pressure that promised a shattering release. In that suspended moment, there was only the shared rhythm of their breathing and the profound, aching need to become one.
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