Girls That Finish The Job
Girls That Finish The Job Pic(s)
The city lights blurred beyond the rain-streaked window, casting a soft, golden halo around his silhouette as he turned from the glass. His gaze, when it found mine, was not a conquest but a quiet question, a silent tremor in the space between our breath. I felt the warmth of his hand before it ever touched my skin, a magnetic pull that drew my fingers to trace the hesitant line of his jaw. A sigh escaped my lips, not of surrender, but of a long-forgotten hope finally taking root deep within my chest. He leaned in, his forehead gently resting against mine, and in that suspended moment, the entire noisy world fell into a hushed, reverent silence. The scent of rain and his faint, clean cologne wove an intoxicating tapestry in the air around us. My heart was not racing, but beating a slow, profound rhythm that seemed to sync with his own, a wordless conversation of pulse and promise. His thumb brushed a stray tear from my cheek, a gesture so tender it felt like an unspoken vow. In the quiet intimacy of that room, surrounded by the city's distant heartbeat, every carefully constructed wall around my heart crumbled into dust. This was not a game, but the delicate, terrifying, and beautiful beginning of something real.
Comments
Post a Comment