GCAVixens: Ivy Andrews Moves into New House

Tabooheat

Cory Chase, Ivy Andrews Pic(s)

The final box landed with a soft thud on the bare floorboards, and for the first time, a true silence settled around her, thick as dust. She leaned agat the doorframe, the worn wood cool and solid agat her lower back, a stark contrast to the warmth blooming under her skin from the day’s labor. A single sunbeam, thick with swirling motes of dust, cut diagonally across the room, illuminating the graceful curve of her throat as she tilted her head back. The scent of aged pine and the faint, clean promise of lemon polish filled her lungs, a new perfume for this new skin she was stepping into. Her fingers, still humming with the memory of cardboard and tape, drifted absently to the buttons of her blouse, slipping the first one free to let the air kiss the hollow of her collarbone. A slow, deliberate breath escaped her lips, parting them just enough to taste the unfamiliar atmosphere, a flavor of potential and quiet solitude. She could feel the house watching her, not with judgment, but with a patient curiosity, its empty rooms waiting to learn the rhythm of her footsteps, the weight of her body in its spaces. The muscles in her thighs, taut from carrying her life up the stairs, now relaxed into a pleasant, heavy languor, a feeling that spread upwards like a slow, warm tide. In this hushed expectancy, every sensation was amplified, from the whisper of fabric agat her hips to the thrilling awareness of being utterly, deliciously alone in a space that was finally hers to fill.