Girls That Finish The Job
Girls That Finish The Job Pic(s)
The rain traced silver paths down the glass tower, blurring the city’s frantic lights into a soft, private watercolor just for us. His hand, warm and steady, found the small of my back, a silent question in the quiet hum of the empty office. My breath hitched as his thumb traced a slow, deliberate arc over my silk blouse, each movement whispering a promise that tightened the air between us. I leaned into his solid strength, my forehead resting against his shoulder, inhaling the faint, clean scent of his skin and the rain. His other hand came up to cradle my jaw, his touch impossibly gentle, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. In his eyes, I saw the same dizzying, breathless hope that was making my own heart stammer against my ribs. The world outside, with its deadlines and demands, simply dissolved into the charged silence we now inhabited. A soft sigh escaped my lips as his forehead came to rest against mine, our shared breath a warm, intimate cloud in the cool, dark room. Every nerve ending sang with the thrilling proximity, the almost-touch of his lips so near, a sweet, agonizing torment. In that suspended moment, we were not colleagues but two souls crossing an unseen finish line into something entirely new.
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