Molly McSquirts
The Miami moon hung like a polished pearl in the velvet sky, its silver light spilling through the balcony doors to paint your skin in shades of milk and shadow. My breath caught as you turned, a slow, deliberate movement that spoke of unspoken anticipation. His presence was a warm current in the room, a solid and calming strength that drew me closer without a single word. Our fingers brushed, a simple touch that sent a jolt of lightning straight to my soul, making my heart hammer against my ribs. He leaned in, his forehead gently resting against mine, and the world outside, with all its rules and reasons, simply ceased to exist. I could feel the steady, reassuring rhythm of his pulse where his wrist met my shoulder, a silent drumbeat matching my own. A soft sigh escaped my lips, not of surrender, but of profound recognition, as his hands came to rest on the small of my back. In that suspended moment, every glance was a confession and every shared breath a sacred promise. The air itself was thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the intoxicating electricity of a connection too powerful to deny. This was our secret, a stolen piece of eternity woven into the quiet Miami night, and I melted completely into its tender, all-consuming embrace.
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