Angel Cruz
The moon cast a silvery veil through the window, painting Angel’s sleeping form in shades of pearl and shadow. Silvana stood beside the bed, her breath catching as her stepson’s intense gaze held her captive in the quiet room. His father slept soundly beside her, unaware of the charged silence that had fallen. A single, tentative finger traced the line of her shoulder, a touch so light it was almost a whisper, yet it sent a shiver of forbidden lightning down her spine. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming tide of emotion as his strong, warm hands began a slow, deliberate journey over the curve of her hip. Every movement was a silent question, and her stillness was her aching, guilty answer. The world narrowed to the heat of his skin near hers, the shared rhythm of their quickening breaths a secret symphony in the dark. A profound, trembling tension built within her, a desperate, silent communication felt only in the pressure of his palms and the arch of her back. Behind the veil of her husband’s oblivious slumber, their shared longing culminated in a breathless, shuddering release that left her weak and trembling. A single, silent tear traced a path down her cheek, a bittersweet testament to the secret they now eternally shared.
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