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Chloe Cherry, Emily Willis Pic(s)
The air hummed with a low, percussive throb that seemed to vibrate up through the soles of her feet, a primal rhythm that bypassed thought and spoke directly to the blood. A slow, deliberate hand slid up the curve of her spine, the heat of the palm a stark contrast to the cool silk of her slip, each finger leaving a trail of latent fire. She arched into the touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she tilted her head back, exposing the pale column of her throat to the hazy, strobing light. His mouth found the frantic pulse beating there, not with hunger, but with a knowing pressure that made her knees weaken. The scent of his skin, clean sweat and dark spice, filled her lungs as his other hand splayed across her abdomen, pulling her flush agat the hard line of his body. Around them, shadows merged and swayed, anonymous forms moving as one creature in the semi-darkness, a sea of anonymous desire. The music swelled, a cascade of synthetic strings that wrapped around them like a tangible mist, isolating them in their own private world. She could feel the whisper of his breath agat her ear, a promise murmured in a language older than words, and her own hands came up to tangle in the damp hair at his nape. In that suspended moment, there was only the push and pull of their bodies, a silent, urgent conversation spoken through friction and heat, a perfect, aching suspension before the fall.
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