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 shoulder to my wrist, a silent question written in the language of touch. I leaned into the solid warmth of his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heart against my back. A soft sigh escaped my lips as his hand settled on my waist, his thumb drawing slow, hypnotic circles on the sensitive skin there. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with a tenderness that made my own pulse flutter in response. He lowered his head, and his breath warmed my neck, a ghost of a kiss that promised everything and demanded nothing. In that suspended moment, the entire world narrowed to the space between his exhale and my shiver. Every careful, exploring touch felt like a whispered secret, building a profound and aching intimacy. I turned to face him, my hand finding his cheek, our eyes meeting in the half-light with unspoken understanding. This was not a rush, but a slow, deliberate unraveling of two souls, weaving themselves together in the quiet dark.
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