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Aiden Ashley, Nadia Noja Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to hum with the memory of his touch, a phantom pressure still tracing the curve of her hip where his possessive hand had rested moments before. Every breath she drew was thick with the scent of him, a heady mixture of clean sweat and the dark, woody cologne that now clung to her own feverish skin. She could feel the ghost of his lips moving agat the sensitive column of her throat, a slow, deliberate path of fire that had left her trembling and utterly pliant. The taste of him, sharp and uniquely male, lingered on her tongue, a constant, intoxicating reminder of the desperate, searching kiss they had shared. Her fingers, tangled in the rumpled sheets, recalled the hard planes of his back, the powerful shift of muscle beneath smooth, warm skin as he moved above her. A single, perfect ache bloomed deep within her, a hollow echo of his presence that yearned to be filled again, a physical testament to his overwhelming possession. The silence in the room was not empty but charged, pulsating with the unspoken words and promises that had passed between them in the dim light. She closed her eyes, and the entire world narrowed to the vivid, sensory imprint of his body, his smell, his taste, an all-consuming reality that blotted out everything else. This was not mere passion; it was a profound, cellular claiming, a fusion of souls that left her irrevocably and completely his.
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