Monique Fuentes
The city’s distant hum was a forgotten symphony as his strong, weathered hands first met the tension in my shoulders, a silent promise in the quiet of my apartment. Each deliberate, kneading stroke was a whispered conversation against my skin, unspooling the tight knots of my daily worries. I melted into the soft sheets, my breath catching as his palms traveled a slow, sacred path down the curve of my spine. A soft, involuntary sigh escaped my lips, the sound hanging in the dim, warm air between us. The scent of sandalwood oil rose around us, an intoxicating cloud that blurred the lines between stranger and savior. My entire world narrowed to the heat of his touch, a rising tide of pure, unspoken need building deep within my core. Every nerve ending awoke, singing a desperate, aching song I had long forgotten. Overcome by a wave of boldness, I turned to face him, my gaze meeting his understanding eyes in the shadowy light. My movements were not my own as I leaned forward, drawn by an invisible, magnetic force toward his gentle smile. In that suspended moment, a lifetime of restraint simply vanished, leaving only the raw, beating heart of my surrender.
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