Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The sun had long since surrendered to the moon, but the evening air still clung to the day’s warmth, a heavy, perfumed blanket of jasmine and damp earth. His fingers, tracing idle patterns on my bare shoulder, spoke a language more profound than any whispered promise. I could feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heart against my back, a silent drumbeat syncing with my own fluttering pulse. The world narrowed to this single space on the veranda, to the soft sigh of the wind through the willow trees and the distant, rhythmic crash of waves. Every gentle stroke of his hand along my arm sent tiny shivers cascading through my entire being, a delicious tremor of pure anticipation. I leaned into his solid warmth, my head finding its familiar resting place in the curve of his neck, breathing in his scent of clean linen and summer night. Our breaths began to mingle and slow, becoming one shared, languid rhythm in the quiet dark. A profound sense of peace, laced with a thrilling current of desire, settled deep within my soul, making me feel both utterly safe and exquisitely alive. In that suspended moment, every touch was a question and every sigh its answer, a silent conversation written on our skin. The heat of the night was no longer in the air, but in the quiet space between our two beating hearts.
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