Rose creation
The rain whispered secrets against the studio window, a soft percussion to the frantic rhythm of my heart. His name was Rahul, the boy from next door, now a man whose focused eyes held galaxies of quiet intensity. The low hum of the tattoo machine was a distant buzz beneath the sensation of his warm, steadying hand on my hip. Every gentle press of his fingers as he tested the skin of my underbelly sent a shiver of pure lightning through my veins. A warmth pooled deep within me, a dizzying, helpless rush of feeling I could no longer contain, leaving us both in a moment of stunned, breathless silence. My cheeks flushed with a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the raw vulnerability shining in his gaze. Without a word, I found my voice, a trembling offer tumbling out, a desperate year’s ransom for the continuation of this exquisite torment. The air thickened, charged with the unspoken promise of everything we were about to become. He slowly set his tools aside, his movement deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine as he closed the small, sacred space between us. In that suspended silence, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the intoxicating potential of his touch.
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