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Darcie Dolce, Sabina Rouge Pic(s)
The room hummed with a shared, silent anticipation, a warmth that radiated not just from bodies but from a collective, unspoken intention. Each inhalation drew in the scent of clean skin and the faint, earthy aroma of polished wood, mingling with the subtle sweetness of jasmine incense. He positioned himself behind her, his knees gently framing her hips as she settled back, her spine a soft curve agat the solid plane of his chest. His hands, warm and sure, found the crests of her shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the tight cords of muscle with a firm, knowing pressure that drew a slow, surrendering sigh. The long, cylindrical pillow was a welcome support, its yielding firmness cradling the small of her back as she arched into the stretch, allowing her to open more deeply. A bead of sweat traced a lazy path down the nape of her neck, and he watched its journey, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her tank top. The only sounds were the rustle of clothing shifting with movement and the soft, rhythmic whisper of synchronized breathing filling the space between them. As they moved into a deeper pose, his forearm brushed agat the side of her breast, a fleeting, electric contact that sent a jolt of awareness straight to her core. In that suspended moment, every point of contact became a universe of sensation, a silent language of pressure and release that spoke volumes more than any words could.
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