Evilangel
Kitana Lure, Venera Maxima, Erik Everhard, Maximo Garcia, Joss Lescaf Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to shimmer with a latent heat, thick with the scent of sun-warmed leather and distant orange blossoms. His approach was not a sound but a vibration, a low, resonant hum that traveled through the worn floorboards and up into the very core of her being. When his shadow fell over her, it was not a cold absence of light but a palpable weight, a promise of shelter and possession. He moved with an unhurried grace that spoke of immense power held in perfect check, each shift of muscle beneath his thin linen shirt a silent testament to a body honed for endurance. One calloused hand, surprisingly gentle, came to rest on the curve of her waist, its warmth seeping through the delicate fabric of her dress like a brand. She could feel the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart where his chest pressed agat her shoulder, a primal drumbeat that echoed the frantic flutter of her own pulse. His breath, when he leaned close, was a soft, warm caress agat her neck, carrying the faint, intoxicating aroma of red wine and clean, male sweat. A low murmur, more felt than heard, rumbled from his chest, the words lost but their intent clear as his fingers traced a slow, deliberate path along her spine. In that suspended moment, the world narrowed to the electric space where their bodies almost met, a charged anticipation of the storm about to break.
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