Wicked
Avi Love, Jake Adams Pic(s)
The heavy velvet curtain finally fell away, not with a theatrical swoosh, but with the slow, deliberate parting of a silk robe, revealing a truth that had been breathing just beneath the surface of every polite conversation. Her skin, bathed in the low amber glow of a single lamp, seemed to drink the light, each pore whispering a history of suppressed longing. His gaze, no longer that of a mere observer, traced the delicate architecture of her collarbone, a path he had only ever imagined in the quietest hours of the night. The air itself grew thick and sweet, charged with the unspoken electricity that had crackled between them for weeks, a storm finally breaking its silence. A single, trembling finger reached out, not to take, but to question, its tip meeting the frantic pulse at the base of her throat in a silent, seismic conversation. Her lips parted on a sigh that was both surrender and invitation, a sound that dissolved the last vestiges of the world outside this hushed room. The scent of her, jasmine and warm woman, flooded his senses, an intoxicating perfume that promised a landscape he was desperate to explore. In that suspended moment, every carefully constructed wall crumbled, leaving only the raw, beautiful truth of mutual desire laid bare. This was not a beginning, but a culmination, the final piece of a puzzle sliding into place with a perfect, breathless click.
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