Becky Tailor
The evening sun bled orange and gold across the Miami skyline, casting long, dancing shadows in the quiet room. He watched her from the doorway, a silhouette of grace against the fading light, her breath catching as their eyes met. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips as she closed the distance, her hand coming to rest gently on his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, a tender caress that spoke of a thousand unspoken promises. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as a soft sigh escaped her, the world narrowing to this single, suspended moment. The warm, humid air clung to their skin like a second silken layer, amplifying every whisper of contact. When his lips finally found hers, it was not a collision but a slow, melting fusion, a deep and searching kiss that tasted of salt and longing. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her body arching to meet his in a silent, desperate plea. A single, perfect tear traced a path down her cheek, a testament to the overwhelming wave of emotion crashing over them both. In that breathless, golden stillness, they were the only two people left in the world, completely and utterly consumed.
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