21Sextury
Lana Roy, Nata Ocean, Liya Silver Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to shimmer with a shared, unspoken anticipation, thick with the scent of melting wax and the faint, sweet perfume clinging to her skin. Her fingers, tracing a slow, deliberate path along the ide of my wrist, felt like a brand of pure heat, each touch sending tiny, electric shivers up my arm. I watched the candlelight dance in the dark pools of her eyes, a flickering reflection of the hunger I felt coiling deep within my own belly. She leaned in, her breath a warm caress agat my neck, and the world narrowed to the space between our lips, a breath away from contact. The soft sound of her sigh mingled with the distant hum of the city, a private music that existed only for us in that suspended moment. When her mouth finally found mine, it was not a collision but a slow, deep exploration, a tasting of promises and a silent, mutual surrender. My hands found the small of her back, pulling her closer until I could feel the frantic, answering rhythm of her heart agat my own chest. The taste of champagne on her tongue was intoxicating, a sparkling sweetness that made my head spin and my body ache for more. In that perfect, breathless union, the only gift I desired was the endless, unfolding present of her touch, a celebration more profound than any passing year.
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