21Sextury
Stacy Bloom, Kristof Cale Pic(s)
The moon was a sliver of stolen silver, casting long shadows that clung to the velvet darkness of the penthouse like a lover’s embrace. He moved with a fluid silence, a phantom weaving through the scent of polished mahogany and expensive perfume that hung heavy in the still air. His gloved fingers, skilled and knowing, traced the cool curve of a jade figurine on the desk, feeling the latent energy of the priceless object thrum agat his skin. A drawer, unlocked, yielded its treasure: a necklace whose diamonds were not mere stones but captured starlight, winking with a cold, irresistible fire. He lifted it, the chain slithering over his palm like a liquid promise, its weight a delicious secret agat his flesh. This was the true intoxication, not the monetary value, but the sheer, audacious act of possession, the thrill of claiming such beauty in the heart of another’s domain. A low, appreciative hum vibrated in his throat, a sound of pure, primal satisfaction as he watched the gems drink the faint light. Every sense was heightened, the silence a roaring symphony, the touch of cool metal a brand of victory upon his feverish skin. In this moment of perfect, illicit communion with the forbidden, he was more alive than ever, a predator savoring the most exquisite prize.
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