21Sextreme
Anastasia Brokelyn, Bruno SX Pic(s)
The air itself was a thick, heavy blanket, clinging to every inch of skin with a damp istence that made even the slightest movement feel deliberate and slow. A single bead of perspiration traced a lazy, meandering path from her temple, following the delicate curve of her jaw before disappearing into the hollow of her throat. The world outside the window shimmered, a mirage of molten gold, but within the room, the only light was the sun’s filtered, honeyed glow catching the fine, almost invisible hairs on his forearm. His hand rested on the small of her back, a point of contact that burned with a startling, specific heat, a brand that seemed to pulse in time with the slow, heavy thrum of her own blood. The scent of him, salt and warm skin and something uniquely male, filled her senses, a heady perfume that made her head feel light. She could feel the solid, steady rhythm of his heart beneath her palm where it lay agat his chest, a deep, resonant drumbeat beneath the quiet hum of the stifling afternoon. His breath ghosted across her damp collarbone, a whisper of coolness in the oppressive warmth, and she arched into it tinctively, a silent plea for more. The silence between them was not empty but charged, a tangible thing woven from shared glances and the electric anticipation of a touch yet to come. Every nerve ending felt alive, hyper-aware, as if her entire being was focused on the minute space where their bodies met, a single, searing point of contact in the sweltering stillness.
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