Filthykings
Jeanie Marie, Tony Moves Pic(s)
The air in the room grew thick with the scent of her perfume and the low thrum of anticipation, a palpable energy that seemed to cling to the velvet drapes. My gaze was fixed, unblinking, as I saw her fingers, tipped in crimson, trace a deliberate path from the hollow of her own throat down to the delicate lace edging her bodice. She moved with a languid, feline grace that was entirely for him, her hips swaying in a silent rhythm only he could hear. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips as she approached the stranger, her eyes holding his with an intensity that promised forbidden knowledge. The fabric of her dress whispered secrets agat her skin as she leaned forward, her breath a warm ghost agat his ear, murmuring words meant solely for him. I watched the muscles in his jaw tighten, a visible tremor of desire running through his powerful frame as he absorbed her proximity. Her hand, pale agat the dark wool of his jacket, came to rest on his chest, feeling the accelerated beat of his heart beneath her palm. The entire world narrowed to that single point of contact, a bridge of flesh and heat between two converging destinies. In that suspended moment, I was both a ghost and a god, witnessing a sacred, profane ritual unfold from the shadows.
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