Wicked
Victoria Voxxx, Lucas Frost Pic(s)
The low hum of conversation around them faded into a distant murmur as his fingers traced the delicate curve of her wine glass, his knuckles accidentally brushing agat hers in a touch that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight up her arm. A slow, knowing smile played upon his lips, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made the air between them feel thick and charged. She watched the way the candlelight caught the amber depths of his irises, seeing flecks of gold that promised hidden depths and secret passions. The scent of his cologne, a subtle mix of sandalwood and something uniquely masculine, wrapped around her senses, pulling her closer into his orbit without a single word being spoken. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low rumble that vibrated deep within her chest, each syllable a deliberate caress that explored the space between a question and an invitation. Her own breath hitched as she leaned forward, the silk of her blouse whispering agat the table, her entire world narrowing to the space occupied by his hands and the promise in his gaze. The taste of the rich red wine on her tongue was forgotten, replaced by the overwhelming anticipation of what his skin might taste like, of the salt and heat she imagined just beneath the crisp collar of his shirt. This was no longer just a meeting of profiles on a screen; it was a primal dance, a silent negotiation of desire unfolding in the flickering shadows. Every incidental contact, every shared glance, was a deliberate step closer to an inevitable, delicious collision that both of them were now helplessly courting.
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