Roccosiffredi
Kaisa Nord, Joss Lescaf Pic(s)
The afternoon sun poured through the arched window, illuminating dust motes that danced like gold leaf around his silhouette as he stood, a study in contained power. His hand, calloused and warm, found the small of her back, a possessive touch that sent a tremor through the silk of her dress. She could smell the heat of his skin, a clean scent of sun-baked earth and leather, mingling with the faint, intoxicating aroma of orange blossoms from the courtyard below. His voice was a low murmur, a husky vibration agat her ear as he spoke words she felt more than understood, each syllable a promise of something wild and untamed. Her breath hitched as his thumb traced the delicate line of her spine, a slow, deliberate ascent that made her knees feel weak and liquid. The world narrowed to the space between them, to the intense, dark fire in his gaze that held hers captive, stripping away all pretense and hesitation. She felt the hard plane of his chest agat her, a solid wall of muscle that promised both sanctuary and surrender, a thrilling contradiction that made her heart pound a frantic rhythm agat her ribs. A single finger tilted her chin upward, his touch impossibly gentle yet commanding absolute attention, and in the charged silence, she knew this was a threshold from which there would be no return. Leaning in, he closed the final, breathless inch, and his mouth claimed hers with a fierce tenderness that tasted of destiny and the coming night.
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