Girls That Finish The Job
Girls That Finish The Job Pic(s)
The world outside the rain-streaked window blurred into a watercolor of gray and gold, the distant city lights smearing like fallen stars. He stood behind me, his presence a palpable warmth that seeped through the thin silk of my dress before his hands even touched my skin. His breath was a soft, warm whisper against the nape of my neck, sending a cascade of shivers down my spine. I leaned back into the solid strength of his chest, my head finding its home in the curve of his shoulder as his arms wrapped around me. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path from my wrist to my elbow, a silent question that made my breath catch. My own hands found his, our fingers intertwining in a desperate, wordless language of their own. A low, contented sigh escaped my lips, the sound lost in the gentle rhythm of the falling rain. Every nerve ending felt alive, humming with a current that connected my heart directly to his. In that suspended moment, there was no past and no future, only the exquisite, aching now. The air itself seemed to thicken with unspoken promises and the sweet, heavy scent of longing.
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