Filthykings
Kaylynn Keys, Jay Bangher Pic(s)
The air between them crackled, a palpable energy born not of anger but of a deep, simmering understanding that every word was a carefully placed piece on a board only they could see. He leaned forward, the fine wool of his suit sleeve brushing agat her bare forearm, a whisper of texture that sent a jolt straight to her core. Her breath hitched, a tiny, betraying sound lost beneath the low hum of the city beyond the glass walls, as she countered his proposal with a slow, deliberate smile that promised more than it conceded. The scent of his cologne, something dark and woody, mingled with the faint trace of her perfume, creating an intoxicating third presence in the room. His gaze dropped to her mouth for a fraction of a second, a silent concession that her terms were not without their own compelling allure. She let her fingers trail along the edge of the polished mahogany desk, feeling the cool, smooth grain beneath her skin as a stark contrast to the heat building within her. He mirrored the gesture, his own hand settling near hers, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, a silent question hanging in the scant inches between them. The final number he uttered was not just a figure, but an invitation, a key turning in a lock they had been polishing all evening. And as she gave a single, slow nod of agreement, the formal dance of discussion melted away, leaving only the raw, thrilling anticipation of what would come after the papers were signed.
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