21Sextury
Angie Lynx, Adelle Sabelle Pic(s)
The last lingering traces of their presence had finally faded from the air, leaving behind a profound and expectant silence that seemed to hum agat my skin. I stood alone in the center of the room, the worn floorboards cool and solid beneath my bare feet, a stark contrast to the sudden, liquid warmth pooling low in my belly. A slow, deliberate breath filled my lungs, carrying the faint, clean scent of soap and the distant, musky ghost of their departed energy. My fingers, almost of their own volition, drifted to the top button of my shirt, the simple act of slipping it free feeling like a radical declaration. Each subsequent release was a tiny surrender, the fabric whispering away from my skin to expose it to the still, waiting atmosphere. A shiver, not of cold but of acute awareness, traced a delicate path down my spine as the last barrier fell, allowing the evening’s gentle breeze to caress my newly bared shoulders. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation of absolute exposure, the air itself feeling like a lover’s first, tentative touch exploring uncharted territory. This was not an ending, but a profound awakening, a rediscovery of the landscape of my own body, untouched and solely my own. Every nerve ending seemed to spark to life, thrumming with a potential that was both terrifying and exquisitely, undeniably mine to command.
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