Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The chase began not with a touch, but with a look that lingered a heartbeat too long across the candlelit room. He moved with a quiet confidence, a predator in a world of soft shadows and murmured jazz, his gaze a tangible heat against my skin. My own pulse became a frantic drumbeat, a wild rhythm answering the unspoken promise in his eyes. Every step he took was a question, and every retreating step I made was a breathless, trembling reply. The air itself grew thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the sweet, sharp tang of anticipation. When his fingers finally, gently, brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek, the world narrowed to that single, electric point of contact. A shiver traced its way down my spine, not from the cool evening breeze, but from the sheer intensity of his nearness. In that suspended moment, I felt utterly seen, my carefully constructed composure unraveling like a silken thread. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile as he saw the surrender in my eyes, a silent victory in our delicate dance. And as his hand found the small of my back, I knew the thrill was not in the capture, but in the beautiful, terrifying decision to be caught.
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