victormtg
Victor Cardone,Elo Cardone,Pistolinha
The golden afternoon light spilled through the window, catching the dust motes dancing around her like shy fairies. He stood before her, his gaze a tangible warmth that started at the crown of her sun-kissed head and traveled slowly down, a silent conversation that made her breath catch. A single, calloused finger traced the line of her jaw, a touch so feather-light it was almost a memory, yet it sent a cascade of shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation, her own hands finding the solid plane of his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath her palm echo her own. The scent of his skin, clean and faintly of cedar, filled her senses as he leaned in, his forehead gently resting against hers. In that suspended silence, the world narrowed to the space between their almost-touching lips, a promise hanging in the air. A soft sigh escaped her, a sound of pure surrender, as his hands settled on her waist, anchoring her to the dizzying moment. Every nerve ending felt alive, humming with a sweet, aching anticipation that was both agony and ecstasy. This was not a conquest, but a slow, tender unraveling, a secret universe discovered in a single, breathless embrace. The blonde strands of her hair whispered against his cheek, a final, silken seal on their unspoken vow.
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