Published: June 14th 2025, 4:00:12 pm
I’m home now, draped in delicate lingerie that clings to my skin like a whisper,
the soft fabric a poor substitute for the memory of him. I can still see the way his fingers moved over the apples—slow, deliberate, almost sensual. I wonder what those hands would feel like tracing the curve of my waist, gripping my hips with that same quiet confidence. Lying back on cool sheets, I let my mind wander—his voice low in my ear, his breath hot against my neck, the tension between us finally unraveling. I close my eyes and imagine what it would be like if he were here, and suddenly, the silence of my bedroom feels electric.
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