Zerotolerancefilms
Adira Allure, Tommy Pistol Pic(s)
The heavy oak door swung inward without a sound, revealing a sanctuary of masculine scent and shadow. A single lamp cast a low, honeyed glow across the rumpled sheets of the massive bed, its light catching the faint, lingering steam from an adjacent bathroom. My breath hitched as I took a hesitant step ide, the plush carpet muffling my trespass. The air was thick with the rich, earthy aroma of his cologne, mingled with something uniquely his, a scent that coiled deep in my stomach. My fingers, trembling slightly, brushed agat the cool, worn leather of a jacket slung carelessly over a chair, and a shiver traced the length of my spine. I could almost feel the phantom weight of his gaze, the memory of his low laugh echoing in the quiet room. Drawn by a compulsion I couldn’t name, I moved to the bedside, my eyes falling upon the subtle impression his head had left on the pillow. Leaning down, I closed my eyes and inhaled, filling my lungs with the intimate, stolen essence of him, a secret now blooming hot and forbidden within me. This was no simple room; it was a map of him, and with every sense alight, I began to trace its contours.
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