Girls That Finish The Job
Girls That Finish The Job Pic(s)
The amber glow of a distant streetlamp bled through the rain-streaked window, painting soft stripes across your sleeping form. I watched the slow, steady rhythm of your breath, a silent counterpoint to the gentle drumming of the storm against the glass. My fingers, moving of their own volition, traced the delicate line of your shoulder, learning the landscape of you by heart. The scent of night-blooming jasmine and wet asphalt drifted on the cool breeze, a perfume uniquely belonging to this city and this moment. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you shifted, your hand finding mine in the half-light, our fingers intertwining with a quiet sense of belonging. In that fragile space between dreams and waking, the entire universe seemed to shrink to the warmth of your skin against mine. I could feel the quiet thunder of my own heart, a wild, hopeful drumbeat echoing in the stillness. The city outside, with its distant hum of traffic and life, felt a million miles away from our secluded sanctuary. Every whispered breath you took felt like a secret shared solely with me, a language more intimate than any words. Lying there, enveloped in the peace you radiated, I understood this was the only home I would ever need.
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