Anissa Miller
The afternoon sun cast long, golden shafts of light through the dusty hayloft, illuminating motes of chaff that danced like tiny fairies. He found her there, a silhouette of soft curves against the rough-hewn wood, her simple dress whispering against the straw as she turned. His calloused hand, usually so sure with tools, trembled as he gently cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. A soft sigh escaped her lips, a sound sweeter than the morning birdsong, as she leaned into his touch, her own hands finding the solid warmth of his chest. The world outside, with its chores and responsibilities, faded into a distant hum, forgotten in the intimate space they now shared. He drew her closer, his arms encircling her waist, feeling the gentle, yielding softness of her form melt against him. Her head tilted back, trust shining in her eyes, as his lips found hers in a kiss that was both a question and an answer. The scent of sun-warmed hay and her faint, floral soap filled his senses, an intoxicating perfume of pure desire. Every shift of her body, every whispered breath against his neck, was a silent poem that spoke of long-suppressed yearning. In that hushed sanctuary, surrounded by the earthy fragrance of the farm, two souls wove a secret memory meant only for the keeping shadows.
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