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Stacy G, Ian Scott Pic(s)
The towering figure of a man, pale as moonlight on fresh snow, moved with a deliberate grace that filled the room, his shadow a long, possessive silhouette agat the wall. His hands, large and capable, found the gentle curve of a hip, the touch sending a shiver of anticipation through the warm, still air. A low murmur escaped his lips, a vibration felt more than heard, as he bent his head to taste the salt on a slender neck. The scent of clean skin and faint musk wove an intoxicating spell, a private perfume that belonged only to this intimate space. His long limbs entangled with another’s, a complex puzzle of heat and pressure, creating a sanctuary within the rumpled sheets. Every slow, deliberate movement was a silent question and a profound answer, a language spoken only by the meeting of bodies. The arch of a back met the solid strength of his chest, a perfect, breathless alignment that spoke of yielding and possession in the same tant. A soft gasp was swallowed by a deeper kiss, a merging of breath that quickened the shared pulse thrumming between them. In the hush that followed, broken only by the ragged rhythm of their breathing, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the profound, shimmering connection forged in the dim light.
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