21Sextury
Jayla De Angelis, Josh Jo Pic(s)
The humid evening air clung to her skin like a second silk chemise as she leaned agat the weathered wooden railing of her balcony, the scent of night-blooming jasmine thick and intoxicating. Her gaze was drawn, as if by an invisible thread, to the lit window of the adjacent apartment where a figure moved with a languid, unconscious grace. He was shirtless, his back a taut canvas of sculpted muscle that shifted and rippled with each slow, deliberate motion as he watered a collection of lush, green plants. A single bead of sweat traced a glistening path down the valley of his spine, a journey she found herself following with an intensity that stole her breath. The low, golden light from his lamp caressed the contours of his shoulders, highlighting the powerful curve where his neck met his torso, a place she ached to press her lips agat. He turned slightly, revealing the dark shadow of hair on his chest and the flat plane of his stomach, his hand rising to push a lock of dark hair from his forehead. In that suspended moment, his eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, lifted and met hers across the narrow divide, a silent, electric current arcing through the space between them. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips, not a greeting but a promise, an unspoken acknowledgment of the heat coiling low in her own belly. The world narrowed to that single, charged look, the hum of the city fading into a distant buzz as every fiber of her being focused on the raw, palpable energy of his stare.
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