Girls That Finish The Job
Girls That Finish The Job Pic(s)
The evening air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked jasmine, clinging to our skin as we stood in the soft lamplight of the room. His gaze was a tangible weight, a silent question that made my breath catch in my throat. Slowly, his fingers traced the line of my jaw, a whisper of a touch that sent a cascade of shivers down my spine. I leaned into his palm, my eyes closing as I surrendered to the profound tenderness of the moment. A soft sigh escaped my lips when his hand slid to the nape of my neck, his thumb stroking the frantic pulse there. Our foreheads touched, and the world narrowed to this single, breathless point of connection. I could feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heart answering the wild flutter of my own. His other hand found the small of my back, drawing me closer until not a sliver of light could pass between us. Every nerve ending awoke, singing with an anticipation that was both aching and sweet. In that final, trembling release of breath, I felt not just wanted, but utterly, completely known.
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