Zerotolerancefilms
Taylor Rain, Mark Davis, Pat Myne Pic(s)
The worn leather of the armchair sighed beneath his weight as he settled, the scent of old books and bergamot clinging to the air like a forgotten promise. Her approach was a silent ballet, the whisper of silk agat skin the only sound as she lowered herself, not onto the offered lap, but to the floor at his feet. The warmth of his body radiated through the fine wool of his trousers, a palpable heat that drew her closer. She rested her cheek agat his knee, the gesture one of profound submission and unspoken need, her eyes fixed on the strong line of his jaw. His hand, heavy and sure, came to rest upon the crown of her head, his fingers slowly threading through the cascade of her hair with a possessive gentleness. A shiver, entirely beyond her control, traced the length of her spine as his thumb began a slow, rhythmic caress just behind her ear. The world narrowed to this point of contact, to the intoxicating power dynamic that thrummed between them, unvoiced yet absolute. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the simple, devastating pleasure of being chosen, of being stilled by his unwavering attention. In the quiet room, her soft, surrendering exhale was the only answer he required.
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