Filthykings
Lexi Stone, Leo Valentino Pic(s)
The heavy velvet drapes whispered shut, swallowing the last sliver of the outside world and plunging the room into a deep, intimate twilight. His gaze was a physical weight, a slow, deliberate caress that traveled from the vulnerable curve of my neck down to the frantic pulse at my wrist. Everywhere his eyes lingered, my skin bloomed with a flush of heat, a silent, aching answer to his unspoken question. The air itself grew thick, charged with the scent of sandalwood and the faint, sweet salt of anticipation. I could feel the ghost of his touch in the space between us, a phantom pressure that made my breath catch and my lips part in a silent invitation. The only sound was the soft rustle of fabric as I shifted, a deliberate, slow movement meant to draw his stare deeper into the shadowed hollows and gentle slopes of my form. My own vision narrowed, focusing solely on the dark pools of his eyes, seeing my own desire reflected back at me, raw and unfiltered. This was a game of exquisite tension, a silent conversation spoken through the language of parted lips and hooded glances. In this suspended moment, the world had shrunk to this single, breathless point of connection, a prelude to a touch I could already feel burning on my skin.
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