Girls That Finish The Job
Girls That Finish The Job Pic(s)
The city’s distant heartbeat was a muffled drum against the windowpane, the room lit only by the shy glow of a streetlamp filtering through the blinds. He stood so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, a silent promise in the charged air between us. His fingers, when they finally traced the line of my jaw, were a whisper of heat against the cool night. My breath hitched as his thumb brushed my lower lip, a question asked without a single word spoken. I leaned into his touch, my own hands finding the solid plane of his back, feeling the faint tremor that mirrored the wild rhythm in my own chest. The scent of his cologne, of rain and warm spice, wrapped around me like a tangible embrace. Our foreheads met, a tender collision that felt more intimate than any kiss, a silent communion of two souls adrift. I could taste the electricity on the air, a sweet, sharp anticipation that made my senses sing. In that suspended moment, the entire world narrowed to the space where our bodies almost met, a breath away from becoming one. A soft sigh escaped me, not of surrender, but of arrival, as I finally melted into the safe harbor of his arms.
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