Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The city slept beneath a blanket of oppressive heat, but in our room, the air was alive with the whisper of the fan and the rhythm of our shared breath. His hand found the delicate curve of my shoulder, his thumb tracing a slow, hypnotic pattern that sent shivers across my skin. I leaned into his touch, my head resting against his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring drum of his heart. Our gazes met and held, a silent conversation unfolding in the dim, golden light, saying everything words never could. He shifted closer, the scent of his skin—warm and faintly of sandalwood—filling my senses completely. My fingers gently traced the line of his jaw, feeling the subtle tension there soften under my caress. A soft sigh escaped my lips, not of weariness, but of profound, aching contentment. The world outside melted into a distant hum as he drew me nearer, our bodies aligning like two perfect, long-lost pieces. In that suspended moment, every breath, every glance, was a tender promise whispered into the sultry night. I felt utterly, completely known, as if my soul had finally come home.
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