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OliverFaze

Krystal Davis,Oliver Faze

The golden hour light spilled through the window, catching the dust motes dancing like tiny stars around her silhouette. She stood waiting, a soft sigh escaping her lips as the evening breeze carried the scent of night-blooming jasmine into the room. His gaze was a physical touch, warm and heavy, tracing the line of her shoulder down to the curve of her waist. A shiver, delicate as a butterfly's wing, traced its way down her spine when he finally stepped closer, his presence a comforting heat at her back. He gently turned her to face him, his fingers whispering against her jawline, tilting her face up to his. In his eyes, she saw not just desire, but a deep, reverent recognition that made her breath catch. Her hands came to rest on his chest, feeling the frantic, answering rhythm of his heart beneath her palms. The world narrowed to this single, suspended moment, filled with the unspoken language of shared longing. She leaned into him, her forehead resting against his, their shared breath a silent promise in the quiet space between them. This was the precipice of something beautiful, a silent symphony of anticipation waiting for its first, tender note.