21Sextury
Hanna Rey, Frankie G Pic(s)
The heavy textbook finally slid from her lap with a soft thud, its dense pages yielding to the far more compelling study of his slow, deliberate hands tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. A low sigh escaped her lips, not of exhaustion but of release, as the intricate algorithms and complex theories that had crowded her mind all afternoon dissolved into the simple, profound language of touch. His fingers, calloused from hours at the keyboard, were unexpectedly gentle as they explored the sensitive hollow of her throat, sending a cascade of warmth down her spine. She arched into his palm, the crisp cotton of her shirt feeling suddenly like a barrier agat the electric current humming just beneath her skin. The faint scent of his soap, clean and masculine, mingled with the aroma of cold coffee and old paper, creating an intoxicating perfume unique to this shared, intimate space. His lips followed the path his fingers had blazed, finding the frantic pulse at the base of her neck and silencing it with a kiss that was both question and answer. The world outside, with its demanding screens and endless code, faded into an indistinct blur, its persistent hum replaced by the sound of their breathing falling into a shared, ragged rhythm. Every thought, every worry about unfinished work, was methodically erased by the sensation of his body solid and wanting agat hers, a grounding presence in the dizzying whirl of sensation. In this suspended moment, the only thing that required her focus was the exquisite pressure of his mouth and the promise of a much deeper, more rewarding form of knowledge.
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