Mommysgirl
Dee Williams, Marykate Moss Pic(s)
The morning light spilled through the window, catching the delicate curve of her shoulder as she stretched, a slow, languid unfurling of sleep-warmed limbs. His gaze traced the path of a sunbeam as it danced across the gentle slope of her breast, the soft, pale skin yielding to the pressure of the mattress in a way that was profoundly alluring. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her lips, a sound that seemed to hang in the quiet air like the distant call of a dove. He watched the steady, calm rhythm of her breathing, each inhalation a subtle swell that spoke of life and quiet contentment. The sheet had slipped low, revealing the tender weight of her form, a perfect handful of warmth that fit so naturally within the imagined cup of his palm. The scent of her, clean linen and the faint, sweet musk of dawn, filled his senses, pulling him deeper into the intimate sphere of their shared space. His fingers itched with the memory of that specific softness, the way her flesh would yield and then firm under his tentative touch. In that suspended moment, the world outside ceased to exist, replaced entirely by the visual poetry of her repose. This was a silent hymn to simple, breathtaking beauty, a private viewing of a masterpiece at rest.
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