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Zoey Holloway, Lily Carter Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the unspoken promise that passed between them in the lingering silence. Her gaze, dark and heavy-lidded, traced the delicate line of a collarbone before descending, a visual caress that made the other woman’s breath catch audibly. A single finger, tipped in a pale crescent moon, extended to ghost along the sensitive skin of an inner arm, raising a constellation of goosebumps in its wake. A soft sigh escaped parted lips, a sound that was both surrender and invitation, swallowed by the intimate space separating their bodies. Leaning in, she let her lips, impossibly soft, brush agat the pulse point fluttering wildly at the base of a slender throat, tasting the faint salt of anticipation. The scent of jasmine and warm skin filled her senses, an intoxicating perfume that blurred the edges of the room into ignificance. A hand slid around a narrow waist, pulling their forms together until the heat of one seeped into the other, a seamless fusion of longing. The world narrowed to the whisper of silk sliding from a shoulder, the sharp intake of air, the first tentative meeting of mouths that was less a kiss and more a slow, deliberate claiming. In that suspended moment, every touch was a language, every sigh a verse in the ancient poetry of desire unfolding between them.
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