Diabolic
Yara Skye, Isiah Maxwell Pic(s)
The cool night air clung to the silk of her mask, a second skin whispering agat her flushed cheeks as she moved with a predator’s grace through the labyrinth of shadows. His presence was a solid heat at her back, a silent promise of the chaos and release to come once their objective was secured. Every sense was heightened, the scent of his leather gloves mixing with the distant, metallic tang of the city, a potent cocktail of danger and desire. Her fingers, nimble and sure, danced across the keypad, each successful press sending a tiny, thrilling vibration up her arm, a secret shared only between her and the machine. She could feel the weight of his gaze on the nape of her neck, a tangible pressure that made her breath catch, her focus narrowing to the delicate work and the anticipation thrumming in her ve. A final, decisive click echoed in the silence, the vault door sighing open to reveal the glittering prize within, but her true reward was the low, approving growl that rumbled from his chest. He stepped closer, his body molding to the curve of her spine, his hand settling on her hip with a possessiveness that made her knees weak. The world outside, with its sirens and secrets, faded into ignificance agat the raw, electric current passing between them in that stolen moment. This was the real treasure, the intoxicating thrill of the forbidden conquest, a prelude to the more intimate plunder that awaited them in the sanctuary of the night.
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