Roccosiffredi
Rachel Adjani, Kristof Cale, Vince Karter Pic(s)
The air in the consultation room grew thick, charged with a silent, potent energy that seemed to hum agat the skin. His gaze, analytical and unnervingly direct, traveled over her form with the precision of a cartographer mapping undiscovered territory. A single, deliberate finger traced the delicate line of her collarbone, a touch so light it was almost a thought, yet it sent a shiver of pure anticipation straight to her core. The scent of him, a clean, masculine blend of sandalwood and warm skin, filled her senses, drowning out the sterile smell of the leather chaise. She felt the slow, deliberate pressure of his palm flattening agat the small of her back, drawing her arch into a perfect curve that offered her throat to the dim light. A low murmur, more vibration than word, rumbled from his chest as his other hand slid upwards along her inner thigh, the friction a delicious promise of what was to come. Her breath hitched, catching in her lungs as his thumb found the sensitive, hidden peak of her desire, circling with an expert, languid pressure that made her toes curl. The world outside the soundproofed walls ceased to exist, replaced entirely by the symphony of ragged breaths, the rustle of clothing yielding, and the pounding of two heartbeats synchronizing. In that suspended moment, every clinical pretense shattered, leaving only the raw, pulsating truth of their connection.
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