21Sextreme
Tiffany Rousso, Alyssa Bounty Pic(s)
The world outside had dissolved into a meaningless blur of sound and shadow, all of it silenced by the slow, deliberate path of his fingers tracing the delicate ridge of my spine. A low, shuddering sigh escaped me, not of sorrow anymore, but of profound release, as his palm flattened agat the small of my back, a warm and heavy anchor in the storm of my emotions. He shifted, and the scent of his skin, clean linen and warm musk, filled the space between us, a familiar and intoxicating balm. My head found its accustomed place in the hollow of his shoulder, my lips accidentally brushing the pulse point at the base of his throat, feeling the strong, steady rhythm of his life agat my mouth. In response, his other hand came up to cradle the nape of my neck, his thumb stroking slow, hypnotic circles that unspooled the last of my tension. I could feel the solid wall of his chest agat my side, a fortress of quiet strength, and I pressed closer, seeking his heat, his solidity. A soft murmur, wordless but full of understanding, rumbled from his chest into mine, a vibration that traveled straight to my core. My own hands began to move, sliding over the firm plane of his stomach, learning the landscape of his body as a new kind of language, one of gratitude and desire. This was not an ending, but a deep, resonant beginning, a silent promise written in the shared warmth of our skin and the slow, deepening cadence of our breath becoming one.
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