Girls At Work
The midday sun streamed through the dusty office blinds, carving golden bars across the floor where we stood, our secret tryst suspended in the silent, honeyed light. My breath caught as his fingers, feather-light, traced the line of my jaw, tilting my face upwards to meet his gaze. The air hummed with the unspoken words we could never voice aloud, a palpable tension that made my skin prickle with anticipation. I could feel the solid warmth of his chest beneath his crisp white shirt as I leaned closer, my hand resting tentatively on his arm. His scent, a familiar mix of clean cotton and warm skin, enveloped me, a dizzying fragrance I’d secretly craved for months. The world outside, with its distant traffic and forgotten deadlines, melted into an indistinct blur as his eyes held mine, dark and full of a quiet, burning intensity. A soft sigh escaped my lips as his thumb gently brushed across them, a silent question and a promise all at once. In that suspended moment, I felt utterly known, every guarded corner of my heart laid bare and accepted. The space between us vanished, not with force, but with a slow, inevitable surrender, as our lips finally met in a kiss that tasted of sunlight and stolen time. It was a perfect, fragile eternity, a silent confession written in the language of a single, trembling touch.
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