Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The afternoon sun bled honey-gold through the gauzy curtains, casting long, dancing shadows across the rumpled sheets. His fingers, tracing idle patterns on the small of her back, felt like a language only her skin could understand. A soft sigh escaped her lips, a sound lost in the quiet hum of the city far below their sanctuary. She turned into him, her forehead resting against his, their breath mingling in the narrow, warm space between them. The scent of his skin, of warm cotton and something uniquely him, filled her senses like a forgotten prayer. His gaze held hers, a silent conversation of longing and profound tenderness that made her heart ache with a beautiful, heavy fullness. Every gentle press of his palm against her spine was a promise, a slow, deliberate worship that set her very soul alight. The world outside, with all its noise and haste, simply ceased to exist in this suspended, breathless moment. In the quiet, the only sound was the frantic, answering rhythm of her own pulse echoing in her ears. This was not a stolen hour, but a universe born entirely from the map their bodies were slowly, reverently charting together.
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