Lukas Zaad
The rain whispered secrets against the windowpane, a soft rhythm to the symphony of our shared breaths in the dimly lit room. His presence was a palpable heat between us, a magnetic force that drew Nicolly and me into a trance of trembling anticipation. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum matching the quickening pace of her soft sighs beside me. His hands, both firm and reverent, traced the curve of my spine, a shiver of pure lightning following his touch. Then he would turn to her, and I watched, mesmerized, as her body arched in silent, desperate pleasure. The air thickened with the scent of our shared longing, a heady perfume of salt and warm skin. A low moan escaped my lips, not from pain, but from the overwhelming emotion of witnessing such intimate surrender. Every shift of his weight, every shared glance between Nicolly and I, was a thread weaving us into a single, yearning entity. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only this sacred space of feeling, of giving, of utterly losing ourselves. In the quiet aftermath, a profound and tender exhaustion settled over our entwined limbs, a silent testament to the forbidden beauty we had shared.
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