Helyo Karvalho
Lucao Dotado,Helyo Carvalho
The rain traced delicate paths down the windowpane, blurring the city lights into a soft, golden haze as his hand found mine, our fingers intertwining with a quiet sense of destiny. His gaze held mine, a universe of unspoken longing reflected in the deep pools of his eyes, making the rest of the world simply fade away. I could feel the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm, a silent drum echoing my own frantic pulse as he drew me closer. The scent of his skin, a familiar mix of clean cotton and warm spice, filled my senses, anchoring me completely in that fragile, perfect moment. A soft sigh escaped his lips, ghosting across my cheek before he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against my own. In that breathless space, every inch of my skin tingled with the electric awareness of his proximity, of the heat radiating from his body. His thumb stroked my jaw with an almost reverent tenderness, a gesture so intimate it made my heart ache with a profound, swelling emotion. When our lips finally met, it was not a collision but a slow, gentle merging, a silent conversation of shared vulnerability and deep affection. The taste of him was like coming home, a sweet, intoxicating familiarity that promised safety and boundless passion all at once. Wrapped in that endless embrace, I knew I had found the missing piece of my soul, a love that felt both beautifully new and eternally ancient.
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