Diabolic
Julia Ann, Chad Alva Pic(s)
The familiar scent of her perfume, a delicate blend of jasmine and warm skin, enveloped him the moment the door swung open, a fragrance he had carried in his memory for a decade. Her arms, strong yet yielding, wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into a space that was uniquely and profoundly hers, a sanctuary he had almost forgotten. He felt the soft, worn fabric of her favorite sweater beneath his cheek, a comforting texture that whispered of countless afternoons spent just like this in a distant past. A deep, resonant sigh escaped her lips, a sound of profound release that vibrated gently agat his chest, mingling with the frantic rhythm of his own heart. The warmth of her body seeped through their clothes, a radiant heat that began to thaw the cold, lonely places deep within his soul, stitch by careful stitch. His hands, tentative at first, found the gentle curve of her lower back, pressing her closer as if to erase every inch of distance that had ever grown between them. He could taste the faint, sweet hint of her lip balm in the air, a ghost of a sensation that made him dizzy with a longing he could no longer contain. Time seemed to slow, then stop entirely, the world outside the hallway dissolving into an indistinct blur of light and shadow, leaving only the palpable, aching truth of their connection. In that silent, breathless moment, every worry, every year of separation, melted away, replaced by the simple, overwhelming rightness of being held.
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