Girls That Finish The Job
Girls That Finish The Job Pic(s)
The rain fell in soft, silver sheets, blurring the world beyond our window into a watercolor dream. He stood behind me, his warmth a solid promise against the chill of the glass, his breath a gentle tide against my neck. My head fell back against his shoulder as his hands found mine, our fingers lacing together in a silent, desperate prayer. Every inch of my skin hummed with a quiet electricity, a longing to dissolve into the heat of his embrace. I could feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heart against my back, a drumbeat answering the frantic flutter of my own. His lips traced the curve of my shoulder, a whisper of a touch that sent shivers cascading down my spine. The scent of petrichor and his skin mingled into a single, intoxicating perfume that made me feel dizzy with want. In that suspended moment, the line between my body and his began to soften and fade, like ink bleeding into wet paper. A soft sigh escaped me, not of surrender, but of homecoming, as his arms tightened around me. We were an island of breath and heartbeat, adrift in a storm of our own quiet making.
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