Sunlight pours through half-closed blinds, tracing soft lines across her bare skin.
A book rests gently in her hands, eyes lost in a story, lips parted with thought.
The air hums slow—lazy, golden, electric.
Everything else fades. Just her, the pages, and the heat of the moment.
Peter Wylie
2025-04-14 01:53:54 +0000 UTC