21Sextury
Kinuski Kakku, Alyssa Bounty Pic(s)
The air between us thickened with the unspoken, a palpable tension that hummed beneath the surface of our familiar glances. His fingers, usually so certain, trembled slightly as they traced the delicate line of my collarbone, a silent question posed agat my skin. I answered with a slow, deliberate arch of my back, pressing into his touch, inviting the exploration of territories we had only ever mapped with our eyes. The soft gasp that escaped my lips was not one of surprise, but of profound recognition, as if a veil had been lifted from a long-held truth. The scent of him, warm and musky, filled my senses as his mouth found the sensitive hollow of my throat, each kiss a whispered confession we had been too cautious to voice aloud. My own hands learned the landscape of his shoulders, feeling the coiled strength there, a testament to the restraint he had shown for so long. The quiet of the room was broken only by our ragged breathing and the rustle of fabric as it surrendered to the floor, a discarded boundary. In the dim light, every glance, every hesitant touch from years past coalesced into this single, urgent moment of absolute clarity. Our bodies finally spoke the language our hearts had known all along, a fluent, aching poetry of skin agat skin, erasing every last secret.
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