His palms move tentatively to my chest, kneading the muscle above my breasts. Each touch is measured, professional at first, but as his fingers brush the soft curve, I sense a slight hesitation, like he’s silently asking a question.The tension in my body melts under his touch, replaced by a growing ache that I can’t suppress. When his hands shift under the sheet, grazing the fullness of my breasts, his thumbs unintentionally—or perhaps deliberately—brush my nipples.I gasp softly, the sound breaking the silence between us. My body reacts before my mind can intervene, arching slightly into his touch. He freezes for a moment, his breath catching audibly, before resuming with a tenderness that borders on reverence.“Is this okay?” he murmurs, his voice husky but steady.“Yes,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.“You’re beautiful,” Ryan murmurs, his eyes locking with mine, full of admiration and something deeper—something raw.His thumbs circle my nipples again, this time with more p
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