Puretaboo
Paige Owens, John Strong Pic(s)
The worn floorboard groaned a low, resonant protest under the shifting pressure of a bare foot, a sudden and intimate sound in the hushed stillness of the room. A gasp, sharp and involuntary, caught in her throat as the unexpected vibration traveled up through the sole, a tremor that seemed to echo deep within her core. Her balance faltered for a single, suspended heartbeat, the world tilting on its axis as she tinctively reached out into the warm, shadowed air. His hand was there, a solid and waiting anchor, his fingers closing firmly around her forearm to steady her. The heat of his palm seeped into her skin, a brand of possession that felt both startling and inevitable. She could feel the faint, rapid pulse at his wrist beating agat her own, a frantic, silent conversation between their bodies. His breath ghosted across her temple, a warm, moist exhalation that carried the faint, musky scent of his skin. In that precarious, leaning moment, the space between them vanished, charged with a tension far more potent than the threat of a fall. Every sense was heightened, every whisper of touch a profound language, as the simple act of catching her became a deliberate, drawn-out seduction.
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