Puretaboo
Alex Coal, Logan Pierce Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to shimmer with a new, unspoken electricity, a palpable current that passed between the four of us as we settled into the unfamiliar quiet of the lakeside cabin. His gaze, when it finally met mine from across the room, was not that of a familiar partner but held the thrilling, unnerving weight of a complete stranger’s appraisal, dark and intensely curious. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips as he approached, his movements fluid and deliberate, each step closing the distance in the hushed space. The scent of his cologne, something clean and woody with a hint of spice, was a novel intoxication that filled my lungs as he stopped mere inches away. His fingers, when they gently brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek, were surprisingly warm, the touch sending a cascade of tiny shivers down the length of my spine. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, a silent promise that made my own skin flush in response, my heartbeat a frantic drum agat my ribs. He leaned in, his voice a low, intimate murmur that was for my ears alone, the words lost but their intention clear as his breath ghosted across my earlobe. My eyes fluttered closed as his hand settled on the small of my back, a firm, possessive pressure that pulled me into the solid warmth of his chest, erasing the last vestiges of my old life. In that suspended moment, surrounded by the scent of pine and possibility, every careful boundary dissolved, leaving only the raw, exhilarating sensation of a beginning I had never dared to imagine.
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