Richard Manns World
The amber glow of the bar settled on Alura’s shoulders like a shroud of quiet loneliness, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as she confessed the years of aching silence to Presley. Her friend’s hand, warm and reassuring, covered her own, a silent promise of understanding. Later, a discreet knock at the hotel door announced Richard’s arrival, his presence not an intrusion but a calm, steady force in the softly lit room. His eyes, deep and knowing, held Alura’s without judgment, seeing the vibrant woman hidden beneath her quiet sorrow. When his fingers, impossibly gentle, first brushed a stray curl from her cheek, a shuddering breath escaped her, the first stone in an emotional dam beginning to crumble. Every movement of his hands was a whispered question against her skin, mapping the landscape of her longing with exquisite patience. A soft moan escaped her lips as he traced the line of her jaw, the sound a release of years of neglected yearning. Presley watched from the corner, her own heart swelling with joy as she saw the color return to her friend’s face, a blush of pure, unadulterated feeling. Under Richard’s tender guidance, Alura’s body arched, not in passion, but in surrender to a wave of profound emotional awakening. Tears, sweet and cleansing, finally tracked through her smile as she felt, for the first time in a decade, truly and completely seen.
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