Mommysgirl
Lauren Phillips, Becky Bandini, Lily Larimar Pic(s)
The worn leather of the desk was cool and smooth agat her heated skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his hand splayed possessively on the small of her back. His breath, a soft whisper scented with coffee and chalk dust, ghosted across her neck as he leaned closer, his body a solid, reassuring presence behind her. The only light came from the dusty slats of the setting sun, casting long, dancing shadows that turned the familiar classroom into a realm of intimate secrets. Each slow, deliberate movement of his fingers tracing the line of her spine was a silent lesson in anticipation, a language far more compelling than any textbook. She could feel the steady, strong beat of his heart agat her shoulder blade, a rhythmic counterpoint to her own quickening pulse. A soft, involuntary sigh escaped her lips as his other hand came to rest on her hip, his thumb making slow, circles over the thin fabric of her dress. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the unspoken words and the faint, clean scent of his skin mingling with the old paper smell of the room. In this hushed sanctuary, every rustle of clothing and every shared inhalation became a profound declaration. This was a different kind of education, one of touch and sensation, where the final bell was a distant memory and the only grade that mattered was the one written in the flush of her skin.
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