Diabolic
Pressley Carter, Anthony Rosano Pic(s)
The worn leather of the armchair sighed beneath his weight as he settled, the scent of old books and faint cologne clinging to the air like a secret. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm agat her ribs, a wild drumbeat answering the slow, deliberate cadence of his breathing from across the dimly lit room. She watched, mesmerized, as his fingers traced the rim of a crystal glass, the soft clink a punctuation mark in the thick silence that stretched between them. Every nerve ending felt alive, hyper-aware of the space separating her skin from his, a charged gap begging to be closed. The low light carved shadows along the line of his jaw, highlighting a knowing smile that promised both comfort and ruin. A flush of heat bloomed low in her belly, spreading like warm honey through her ve as he finally met her gaze, his eyes holding a dark, possessive hunger. The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with unspoken words and the electric potential of a single touch. She felt herself leaning forward, drawn by an invisible force, her lips parting in a silent invitation that was both a surrender and a challenge. In that suspended moment, the world narrowed to the space between two chairs, where a legacy of complicated yearning was about to find its next, breathless chapter.
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