Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The Georgia sun, heavy and golden, poured through the window, laying a warm stripe across the rumpled sheets where they lay. His fingers, calloused and gentle, traced the delicate line of her shoulder, a silent question in their slow journey. She arched into his touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she turned to face him, her eyes dark pools of unspoken longing. The air itself was thick with the scent of magnolia and old wood, a perfume that made every breath feel significant. He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, their shared breath creating a private, humid world between them. A tremor ran through her as his hand settled on the small of her back, pulling her closer until not even a sliver of light could pass between them. In that suspended moment, the world outside, with its buzzing cicadas and distant train whistles, faded into a distant hum. Every point of contact was a small, electric fire, a map of sensation that needed no words to be read. She buried her face in the warm hollow of his neck, breathing him in, feeling the frantic, answering rhythm of his heart against her own. This was a language older than speech, a slow, burning exploration of a heat that rivaled the Southern sun.
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