Lina Henaoss
The tropical night breathed through the open window, its humid air a silent accomplice to our shared solitude. Our only bed felt like an island, adrift in the quiet darkness of the unfamiliar room. I pretended to sleep, my breath catching as I watched the moonlight trace the graceful arc of your spine as you shed your clothes. The delicate scent of your perfume and the night jasmine wove an intoxicating spell around us. My hesitant fingertips, as if moving of their own volition, found the warm, smooth landscape of your shoulder. A soft sigh escaped your lips, a sound that was both permission and a plea, erasing every boundary we had ever known. You turned, your eyes holding a universe of unspoken longing that mirrored the tempest in my own heart. Our bodies curved together like two perfect, destined sentences, finding a rhythm as ancient as the tide outside. Every touch was a whispered confession, every shudder a shared secret unfolding in the velvet dark. The world dissolved into a symphony of frantic heartbeats and tangled limbs, a silent, desperate language of need. And in that final, breathless moment, a wave of pure feeling crashed over us, leaving us trembling and forever changed in its tender, devastating wake.
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