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Lilly Bell, Madison Morgan Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to pulse with a low, electric thrum, a palpable energy that raised the fine hairs on her arms as his gaze, dark and intent, traveled the length of her body with deliberate slowness. His fingers, when they finally made contact, traced a path of fire along the sensitive curve of her hip, a touch so light it was almost a memory yet it sent shivers cascading down her spine. She arched into the contact, a soft sigh escaping her lips as the scent of his skin, clean and musky, filled her senses, drowning out all other thought. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, the rough texture of his thumb stroking the delicate skin of her inner wrist, a promise of things to come. He leaned in, his breath a warm caress agat her neck, and she felt the solid strength of his chest press agat her, a wall of heat that promised both safety and delicious danger. Every nerve ending was alight, singing with an anticipation that was almost painful in its intensity, a coiled spring of pure sensation waiting for release. The low murmur of his voice vibrated through her, a rumble that she felt deep in her core, a wordless command that made her blood heat and her pulse quicken. In that suspended moment, time seemed to stretch and warp, every second laden with the weight of unspoken desire and the thrilling certainty of what was to follow. This was the precipice, the breathless pause before the fall into something wild and utterly consuming.
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