Dante Colle
The humid air in the crowded frat house thrummed with a reckless energy, but for Abbie, the world had shrunk to the intimate circle formed by Dante, Aspen, and Micah. Dante’s fingers, surprisingly gentle, traced a slow path from her shoulder down her arm, leaving a trail of shimmering heat in their wake. Aspen’s breath was warm against her neck, a soft whisper that made her heart hammer against her ribs like a trapped bird. She leaned back into Micah’s solid chest, feeling the steady, reassuring thrum of his heartbeat against her spine. A look passed between Dante and Aspen, a silent conversation full of shared understanding and a deep, yearning tenderness. Then Micah’s hand found hers, his fingers lacing with hers in a promise of unspoken support. Every fleeting touch, every exchanged glance, felt like a thread weaving them together in a fragile, beautiful tapestry of the moment. Abbie closed her eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming tide of emotion, feeling cherished and seen in a way she never had before. It wasn't about possession, but a profound connection, a symphony of shared breaths and synchronized pulses. In that hazy, golden light, they were the only real thing, a constellation of four souls burning brightly against the night.
Comments
Post a Comment