The city sparkled below like liquid fire, but all I could see was him Aarav. He appeared on the balcony silently, the night wind tugging at his hair, yet his presence felt like gravity, pulling me closer without a word.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice was low, intimate, almost a caress that slid straight into my chest.
I shook my head, my pulse quickening, chest tight, every nerve alert, heart thrumming in time with the tension between us. Every glance, every fleeting brush of our hands that day had been leading to this, a slow burn now threatening to ignite.
He stepped closer, deliberate, the warmth radiating from him pressing against my skin. His fingers found mine, teasing, curling around my hand in a touch that sent shivers spiraling through me. Desire curled deep inside, a quiet ache that demanded attention.
“Look at me,” he murmured, and I obeyed, drawn into the intensity in his gaze. The city, the noise, the world below all disappeared. There was only him, only us, and the electric tension stretching taut between our bodies.
His hand slid to my waist, fingers pressing lightly, asking permission without a word. I leaned in, letting the heat of his body and the strength of his presence ground me. Our breaths mingled, shallow and urgent, each inhale a silent plea. Every inch we closed was a spark, every touch a promise.
He lowered his forehead to mine, lingering, daring me with his eyes. I tilted my head, and our lips met slow, deliberate, teasing. The kiss deepened, a conversation of longing and surrender, of desire whispered through every brush of our lips, every trembling sigh, every gentle press of our hands.
His hands roamed lightly over my back, tracing lines that left me trembling. My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close, needing him, feeling the pull of his warmth. Every movement was electric, a dialogue of yearning, an intimacy that went beyond words, beyond thought.
We paused for a heartbeat, foreheads pressed together, chests brushing, breaths mingling, hearts racing in sync. I felt exposed, alive in a way that terrified and thrilled me simultaneously.
“I… I didn’t know it could feel like this,” I whispered, voice trembling with want and awe.
He smiled, slow, knowing, his hand lingering at my waist, fingers pressing lightly against the small of my back. “It’s been waiting,” he murmured. And in that word, that touch, that gaze, I felt the promise of nights filled with whispered closeness, deep longing, and intimacy we had denied ourselves for far too long.
The city pulsed below, indifferent to us, but up here, on the balcony, the night was ours. Every shiver, every brush of skin, every soft sigh carved a memory into me. And I knew, without doubt, that nothing else would ever feel this real, this alive, this consuming.
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