Girls That Finish The Job
Girls That Finish The Job Pic(s)
The golden afternoon light spilled through the window, catching the dust motes dancing around Beverly like a halo as she slowly approached. Her fingers, feather-light, traced a path from his tense shoulder down to his wrist, her touch a silent question that made his breath catch. He could feel the warmth of her body a mere whisper from his, a magnetic pull that made his heart hammer against his ribs. A soft, knowing smile played on her lips, her eyes holding a universe of unspoken promises as she leaned in, her fragrant hair brushing his cheek. She tugged gently on the fabric of his shirt, not to pull him closer, but to create a delicious, aching tension in the space between them. Every sense was heightened; he could hear the soft rustle of her dress, smell the faint scent of jasmine on her skin, feel the electric charge in the still air. Her teasing retreat was a slow, agonizingly beautiful torture, each step back a silent vow to return. The world outside the window faded into an indistinct blur, leaving only the intimate universe they inhabited in that suspended moment. He was utterly captivated, lost in the tender torment of her game, his soul laid bare by her gentle, persistent tug and tease. This was not merely a moment, but a memory being seared into the very core of his being, a perfect, emotional ache he would carry forever.
Comments
Post a Comment