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Veronica Snow, Bree Daniels Pic(s)
The air between them crackled with a dangerous energy, a silent storm built from stolen glances and unspoken betrayals. His fingers, calloused from a life she only half-knew, traced the delicate line of her jaw with a reverence that felt like a lie, yet sent shivers cascading down her spine. She arched into his touch, a wilful surrender, her lips parting in a silent invitation that tasted of salt and secrets. The scent of his skin, a mix of cheap whiskey and expensive cologne, filled her lungs, a familiar poison she craved with every fibre of her being. His mouth found hers not with gentle inquiry but with a desperate, claiming hunger, a battle for dominance that melted into a shared, breathless gasp. The world outside their tangled embrace ceased to exist, the only reality the frantic beat of his heart agat her own, a frantic drumming syncopated with the rustle of fabric yielding to impatient hands. Every point of contact was a searing brand, a reminder of the intricate web of deceit that bound them even as their bodies sought a brutal, honest union. In the dim light, the shadows danced across his back, mapping a territory of old scars she had both caused and now soothed with her touch. This was not gentle love, but a conflagration of two wounded souls, finding a painful, perfect solace in the very ruin they created together.
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