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Kit Mercer, Serena Avery Pic(s)
The air in the room was thick with the scent of warm skin and whispered confidences, a palpable energy that hummed between the two women. Her gaze traced the delicate curve of a collarbone she knew as intimately as her own, watching the faint flutter of a pulse just beneath the surface. A single finger, tentative as a question, met the yielding softness of a shoulder, and a shared, shuddering breath filled the space between them. The touch deepened, a palm sliding slowly down the graceful arch of a back, feeling the subtle shift of muscle and the heat that bloomed in its wake. Soft lips parted, not for speech, but to brush agat a temple, tasting the salt of anticipation and the sweet perfume of arousal. Every movement was a silent language, a choreography of discovery where a sigh agat a neck was a more profound statement than any word. The world outside the dimly lit room ceased to exist, narrowed to the universe contained within a single, lingering caress that traveled over a hip. Fingertips discovered the frantic rhythm of a heart beating in a chest, a wild drum answering the unspoken need that thrummed in the air. In that suspended moment, there was only the exquisite, trembling surrender to a connection that was both terrifying and inevitable.
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