Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The rain traced silver paths down the windowpane, a quiet rhythm to the symphony of my heartbeat. His fingers, warm and sure, found the delicate curve of my neck, his thumb tracing a slow, hypnotic circle just below my ear. I closed my eyes, breathing in the unique scent of him—clean linen, old books, and the faint, comforting warmth of his skin. A shiver, not from the cold, danced down my spine as he leaned closer, his breath a soft caress against my temple. The world outside, with its distant city hum, simply melted into a soft-focus blur, leaving only this sacred space we occupied. Every nerve ending seemed to awaken, humming with a gentle, aching anticipation that pooled deep within me. I felt his other hand settle on the small of my back, a steady, anchoring pressure that promised both safety and surrender. My own hands trembled as I reached for him, my fingers threading through the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling the solid strength of him beneath. A soft sigh escaped my lips, not a sound of sadness, but one of profound, overwhelming release, as if I had finally come home after a long and weary journey. In that suspended moment, with our foreheads gently touching, I felt more seen, more known, than I ever had in my entire life.
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