Girls That Finish The Job
Girls That Finish The Job Pic(s)
The city simmered outside the window, a hazy mirage under the relentless sun, but inside, the world had shrunk to the quiet space between us. Rory’s gaze was a physical warmth, a slow, smoldering fire that traced the line of my jaw as he stepped closer. His fingers, when they finally brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek, were surprisingly cool, a gentle contrast to the feverish blush rising on my skin. I could feel the steady, solid beat of his heart as he drew me near, my own pulse fluttering in a frantic, answering rhythm against his chest. The air itself felt thick and sweet, charged with unspoken words and the faint, clean scent of his skin. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped me as his thumb gently stroked the back of my hand, a simple touch that sent tremors through my entire being. In his eyes, I saw not just desire, but a profound, aching tenderness that made my breath catch. My hand lifted, almost of its own volition, to rest against the strong line of his shoulder, feeling the coiled strength there held in careful check. This was more than a mere attraction; it was a quiet, terrifying freefall into something my soul had always recognized. As our foreheads gently touched, the searing heat of the day was forgotten, replaced by the infinitely more consuming fire we had just ignited together.
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