Emma Secret
The fading afternoon light painted golden stripes across the rumpled sheets, a silent witness to our secret tryst. His calloused hands, usually so steady with tools, trembled as they traced the delicate line of my collarbone, a map of newfound desire. Every lingering touch was a whispered secret against my skin, setting my nerves alight with a desperate, aching fire. I could feel the frantic rhythm of his heart echoing my own, a wild drumbeat against my palm as I pulled him closer. His scent, a familiar blend of sawdust and crisp air, was now an intoxicating perfume that clouded my reason and stole my breath. Our murmured confessions were softer than the rustle of the curtains, words meant only for the sanctity of that hidden room. In his embrace, I felt utterly unraveled, a spool of silk coming undone in the warmth of a forbidden sun. The world outside ceased to exist, narrowed to the space where his breath warmed my neck and his gaze held my entire soul. This was a hunger finally being fed, a deep, emotional thirst I never knew I possessed being quenched. The sudden, sharp creak of the door was a splash of ice water, shattering our fragile, perfect world into a thousand irreparable pieces.
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