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Summer Brielle, Vanessa Veracruz Pic(s)
The room seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric as he closed the final inch between them. His gaze, intense and unwavering, traced the delicate curve of her jaw before his fingers followed the same path, a feather-light touch that sent a visible shiver down her spine. He could feel the frantic rhythm of her pulse where his thumb gently rested agat the warmth of her neck, a silent drumbeat answering the quickening of his own. Lowering his head with a deliberate slowness that was its own form of exquisite torture, he let his breath ghost across her lips, a preview of the contact to come. The first brush of his mouth agat hers was not a conquest but a question, a tender exploration that asked for permission and promised pleasure in a single, lingering moment. Her response was a soft sigh that melted into the kiss, her body arching subtly towards his as her hands found their way to his shoulders, anchoring herself in the rising tide of sensation. The taste of her was intoxicating, a unique blend of sweetness and warmth that made him want to drown in the sensation, to learn the landscape of her mouth with infinite patience. Every movement was a silent conversation, a push and pull of gentle pressure and yielding softness that built a slow, consuming heat in the pit of his stomach. They existed only in that suspended tant, two bodies communicating a depth of longing that words could never hope to capture, completely lost in the silent, perfect language of touch.
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