Thiago Lopez
The storm had stranded us, leaving only this single room with its solitary, king-sized bed as our reluctant sanctuary. Rain lashed against the windowpane, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the wild beating of my own heart. She slipped between the sheets with a quiet sigh, the moonlight carving her form from the shadows, a landscape of gentle curves and warm, sleeping skin. My breath caught, held captive by the silent, forbidden beauty of her resting there, so trusting and unaware. A tremor started in my fingertips as I dared to bridge the small, impossible distance, my hand coming to rest on the delicate arch of her waist. She didn't pull away, but instead pressed back into my touch, a soft, yielding murmur escaping her lips that shattered my last shred of resistance. My arms encircled her completely then, pulling her flush against me, our bodies aligning in a perfect, breathless fit as the world outside faded into insignificance. Every shift, every whispered gasp was a language more profound than any we had ever spoken aloud, a conversation of trembling souls and yearning flesh. I was lost in the scent of her hair, the feel of her skin, the overwhelming rightness of this beautiful, terrible mistake. A soft cry was swallowed by the thunder as we moved together, a rising tide of sensation that crested in a shuddering, silent release, leaving us clinging to one another in the quiet aftermath. In the stillness, with our frantic pulses slowly calming, we knew nothing would ever be the same again.
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