Diabolic
Crystal Rush, Anthony Pierce Pic(s)
The late afternoon sun slanted through the library’s tall windows, casting long, warm bars of light across the worn oak table where two figures were secluded amongst the towering shelves. Her presence was an undeniable warmth beside him, a soft, fragrant heat that seemed to radiate through the quiet air as she leaned closer to point out a complex equation in his textbook. The gentle brush of her arm agat his sent a quiet current through his skin, a prelude to the moment she shifted, and the heavy, soft weight of her breast pressed fully agat his shoulder. He could feel the yielding fullness of her through the thin fabric of her blouse, a lush, undeniable pressure that made the printed words on the page blur into ignificance. The scent of her perfume, something like jasmine and warm skin, filled his senses as her voice dropped to a hushed, intimate murmur explaining the formula, each syllable a soft vibration in the small space between them. His entire world narrowed to that single point of contact, a sublime anchor where academic pursuit melted into pure, tactile awareness. Her breath was warm agat his ear, a slow, steady rhythm that synced with the frantic beat of his own heart, turning the dusty, silent library into a sanctuary of escalating tension. Every movement she made was a slow, deliberate caress, a silent lesson in a language far more ancient and compelling than the mathematics laid out before them. He was utterly captivated, lost in the profound geometry of her proximity, a willing student in this unspoken curriculum of desire.
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