Roccosiffredi
Shalina Devine, Raul Costa Pic(s)
The air in the lavish office was thick with the scent of polished mahogany and expensive perfume, a heady mixture that clung to the skin. He watched from his leather throne as the third woman entered, her heels clicking a deliberate rhythm on the parquet floor that spoke of quiet confidence. The late afternoon sun, slanting through the panoramic window, caught the delicate silk of her blouse, rendering it nearly translucent and outlining the gentle curve of her spine. She didn’t speak, but her eyes held his with a knowing intensity as her fingers slowly worked the first button free. With each tiny pearl that slipped its mooring, a new expanse of warm, smooth skin was revealed, glowing in the golden light. A soft sigh escaped her lips as the fabric whispered away from her shoulders, pooling at her elbows and baring her to the waist. The sight of her, proud and unashamed, sent a jolt of pure heat straight through him, tightening his gut. Her own hands drifted upwards, not to cover herself, but to trace the contours of her collarbones, a self-possessed caress that was more provocative than any touch he could offer. In that suspended moment, the professional facade of the day completely dissolved, leaving only the raw, thrilling anticipation of what was to come.
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