Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The fading sun cast long, trembling shadows across the room, gilding the dust motes dancing in the still air. His gaze was a tangible warmth that traveled over my skin, leaving a trail of quiet fire in its wake. I felt my breath catch as his fingers, with infinite slowness, traced the delicate line from my wrist to the inner curve of my elbow. A soft sigh escaped my lips, a sound I barely recognized as my own, as the world narrowed to this single, breathless point of contact. He leaned in, his forehead gently resting against mine, and I could feel the unspoken words passing between us like a current. My hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steadfast, rhythmic drum of his heart beneath my palms, a wild counterpoint to my own fluttering pulse. The scent of his skin, clean and faintly of sandalwood, filled my senses, becoming the only fragrance in the universe. In the profound silence, every whisper of fabric, every shared inhalation, felt like a sacred vow exchanged in a language older than words. I felt myself unfolding, a long-dormant flower turning bravely toward a radiant, unknown sun. This was not a capture, but a sublime and willing surrender to a feeling I had finally, joyfully, claimed as my own.
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