Delight roses
The midnight air was thick with the lingering heat of the day, humming with the silence only broken by the distant rumble of a retreating auto-rickshaw. He stood at her threshold, a silhouette against the dim hallway light, the scent of his honest work clinging to his clothes. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs as she stepped aside, the rustle of her silk sari the only sound between them. His calloused fingers, so careful with the broken machine, now traced the delicate curve of her shoulder with an almost reverent hesitation. A soft sigh escaped her lips, a fragile sound swallowed by the intimate darkness of the bedroom. The world outside ceased to exist as his gaze held hers, speaking volumes of unspoken longing and a shared, breathless anticipation. Every gentle touch was a question, and every tremble of her body was her silent, fervent answer. When his lips finally met the sensitive skin of her neck, it was not a conquest but a slow, deliberate discovery. She melted into his strong, steady arms, all pretense and resistance washed away by a tidal wave of pure, overwhelming emotion. In that suspended moment, they were not a mechanic and a housewife, but simply two souls finding refuge in a forbidden, yet deeply felt, connection.
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