Karups
Karups Pic(s)
The moon cast a silver path across the rumpled sheets, illuminating the quiet space where only our breathing could be heard. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate line from my wrist to my shoulder, a whisper of contact that sent a cascade of warmth through my veins. I turned to meet his gaze, finding in his eyes a silent, smoldering question that made my heart stammer against my ribs. The air itself felt charged, thick with the unspoken promise of this forbidden threshold we were about to cross. A soft sigh escaped my lips as I leaned into him, my forehead resting against his, our shared breath becoming a single, trembling rhythm. He cradled my face with such tender reverence, as if I were something fragile and infinitely precious in the hushed darkness. Every slight shift of his body against mine was a new verse in a poem we were writing with our silent, yearning forms. The world outside this room, with all its rules and reasons, dissolved into an insignificant murmur, leaving only the raw truth of this connection. I felt myself unraveling, not with fear, but with a profound and liberating surrender to the thrilling unknown. In that suspended moment, we were not breaking a rule, but discovering a deeper, more sacred law written in the language of a single, lingering kiss.
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