Helyo Karvalho
Helyo Carvalho,Catarina Diaz
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of molten gold and deep violet, a silent fanfare for our private world. He stood before me, his gaze a tangible warmth that seeped into my skin, erasing the miles we had traveled. His fingers, when they finally traced the line of my jaw, were not a demand but a question whispered against the evening breeze. I leaned into his touch, my own hands finding the solid strength of his shoulders, a anchor in the rising tide of my heartbeat. The scent of night-blooming jasmine wrapped around us like a secret, intensifying every shallow breath I took. A soft sigh escaped my lips as he drew me closer, the space between our bodies dissolving into shared heat. I could feel the steady, reassuring rhythm of his pulse where my temple rested against his neck, a silent language more profound than any words. In that suspended moment, the exotic sounds of the jungle faded into a distant hum, the entire universe narrowing to the point where our foreheads touched. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken promises and the terrifying, beautiful vulnerability of surrender. This was not a stolen kiss, but a slow, deliberate discovery, a journey begun with a single, trembling breath.
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