Puretaboo
Karla Kush, Alex Coal, Charles Dera Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken with the scent of us, a heady mixture of warm skin and shared breath. My fingers traced the delicate ridge of your spine, a slow, deliberate journey from the nape of your neck down to the gentle swell where your back curved. A soft sigh escaped your lips, not a sound of surprise but of deep recognition, as if my touch was a language only your body understood. I watched the flicker of candlelight dance across the fine sheen of perspiration on your shoulders, each tiny droplet catching the glow like liquid gold. Your own hands found their way to my hips, your grip firm and possessive, anchoring me to this moment of suspended time. The world beyond our tangled limbs dissolved into an indistinct hum, irrelevant agat the pounding rhythm of a single heart shared between two chests. I lowered my mouth to the sensitive hollow of your throat, tasting the salt of your skin and feeling the frantic pulse that beat there in answer to my own. Every whisper of contact, from the brush of my thigh agat yours to the way your nails lightly scored my back, was a silent vow of ownership exchanged. In this quiet, breathless space, there was no longer a question of where I ended and you began, only the profound, unshakable truth of our singular belonging.
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