Alex Legend
The midnight hour draped a hushed, blue silence over the building, broken only by the soft click of her heels on my floor. She stood in the doorway, a silhouette of elegant frustration, her arms crossed and her scent of jasmine and rain a delicate accusation in the air. My apology was a whisper lost to the pulse I could feel hammering in my own throat as I stepped closer, drawn by the unspoken tension. Her eyes, usually sharp with impatience, now held a flicker of something softer, more vulnerable in the dim light. My hand, moving of its own volition, gently cupped her cheek, my thumb tracing the elegant line of her jaw until a sigh escaped her lips. The distance between us dissolved as I leaned in, my forehead resting against hers, our shared breath becoming a new, intimate language. I could feel the gradual surrender in her shoulders, the way her body softened and leaned into mine as if coming home. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, a silent negotiation where every touch was a promise and every sigh a term of our new agreement. When our lips finally met, it was a slow, profound seal on a debt paid not with paper, but with the tender currency of the heart. We parted, breathless, the understanding between us now as warm and settled as the quiet night.
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