Zerotolerancefilms
Mckenzie Lee, Angelica Cruz Pic(s)
The air in the room grew thick with the scent of her perfume, a daring blend of night-blooming jasmine and warm skin, as she leaned closer to adjust the collar of my shirt. Her fingers, cool and deliberate, brushed agat the base of my neck, sending a current of awareness straight down my spine. I could see the delicate pulse fluttering at her throat, a tiny, frantic rhythm that betrayed the calm composure of her smile. The silk of her robe whispered agat itself as she moved, the fabric clinging to the curve of her hip, a suggestion of the form beneath that my eyes traced without permission. The low light caught the gloss on her lips, parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came, only a shared, breathless silence that stretched between us. My own heart hammered agat my ribs, a deafening drum in the quiet room, each beat screaming a truth I dared not voice. The space between our bodies diminished to nothing, charged with a heat that had been building for months in stolen glances and accidental touches. Her gaze held mine, dark and unblinking, an unspoken question swirling in their depths that both terrified and exhilarated me. In that suspended moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and all that remained was the terrifying, exquisite pull of a line we were about to cross.
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