Girls That Finish The Job
Girls That Finish The Job Pic(s)
The golden hour sun bled through the dusty studio windows, catching in the fine, honeyed hairs on Sage’s arm as he reached to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His knuckles, rough from work, grazed my cheek with a whisper of a touch that sent a cascade of warmth flooding through my veins. The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with the scent of dried lavender and turpentine, a fragrance that was uniquely and intoxicatingly him. I could feel the steady, solid rhythm of his heart where my hand rested against his chest, a frantic drum answering the wild flutter of my own. His gaze, a deep and stormy gray, held mine with an intensity that made the rest of the world simply dissolve into a meaningless blur. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped my lips as he leaned closer, his breath a warm caress against my skin that promised both solace and sin. Every nerve ending in my body awoke, humming with a desperate, aching awareness of the mere inches separating us. The world narrowed to this single, suspended moment, to the space where our shared breath mingled in the quiet room. His thumb traced the line of my jaw with a reverence that made my knees feel dangerously weak, as if I were standing on a precipice. In that endless, breathless silence, I knew I would willingly fall, forever lost to the quiet tempest of his nearness.
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