Diabolic
Giselle Mari, Will Powers Pic(s)
The air crackled with the tension of unspoken words, a charged silence that clung to the space between our bodies like a second skin. His gaze, heavy and unyielding, traced the frantic pulse at the base of my throat, a silent testament to the storm raging within me. I could feel the heat radiating from him, a palpable force that drew me in even as my tincts screamed for retreat. The scent of his cologne, something dark and woody, mingled with the sharp, clean smell of his sweat, creating an intoxicating perfume that filled my lungs. His knuckles brushed agat my jaw, a whisper of a touch that sent a shiver cascading down my spine, awakening every nerve ending. My breath hitched as his thumb pressed agat my lower lip, parting them with a deliberate, agonizing slowness that promised both punishment and absolution. The low growl rumbling in his chest vibrated through me, a primal sound that spoke of possession and a deep, festering hunger. I arched into him, my body betraying my resolve, melting agat the hard planes of his chest as his other hand settled possessively on the small of my back. In that suspended moment, the line between defiance and surrender blurred into nothingness, leaving only the raw, aching need to finally, completely, yield.
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