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Angela White, Ryan Driller Pic(s)
The air between them crackled with the unspoken weight of years, a palpable tension that thickened with every shared, hesitant glance. His fingers, once familiar in their youthful clumsiness, now traced the delicate line of her jaw with a deliberate, learned grace that sent a shiver cascading down her spine. The low, amber light of the room caught the silver threads in his hair and deepened the shadows pooling in the hollow of her throat, a map of time they were both eager to rediscover. A soft, involuntary sigh escaped her lips as his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, a touch that felt like both a question and a long-awaited answer. The scent of his skin, a faint mix of clean linen and something uniquely, essentially him, flooded her senses, erasing the distance of a decade in a single, dizzying breath. She felt the solid warmth of his chest agat her own, a steady pressure that promised an anchor in the rising tide of memory and desire. Her own hands rose to cradle the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape, pulling him closer into the space that had always belonged to him. The world outside the window, with its distant city hum, faded into an indistinct murmur, unimportant agat the roaring silence of their reunion. Every point of contact, from the press of his thigh agat hers to the whisper of his breath agat her eyelid, was a rediscovered country, a landscape of sensation both thrillingly new and profoundly, achingly familiar.
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