The Tantric Touch

caribbbeanboy

Caribbbeanboy, Verashia

The afternoon sun bled honey-gold through the bamboo blinds, casting long, languid shadows across the quiet room where the scent of sandalwood still clung to the air. Lucia, adrift in the memory, could still feel the ghost of Cesar’s hands on her skin, a map of warmth that had traced the landscape of her shoulders and the delicate curve of her spine. Each deliberate, slow movement had felt like a question whispered directly into her flesh, unraveling knots of tension she didn't know she carried. A deep, resonant heat had bloomed within her core, spreading through her limbs like a slow-moving tide, leaving her breathless and acutely aware of her own heartbeat. Now, back in her own space, the memory was a persistent, humming ache, a craving for that profound connection that had transcended mere touch. She closed her eyes, and the world fell away, replaced by the vivid sensation of his focused presence, a silent conversation that had spoken to the deepest, most lonely parts of her soul. The professional boundary of their session had blurred, replaced by an intimacy that felt both sacred and thrillingly dangerous. A restless energy thrummed under her skin, a desperate yearning to feel that sacred stillness once more, to be unraveled and yet made completely whole. She longed for the safety of that room, for the way his quiet confidence had given her permission to simply feel, to be utterly open and vulnerable. It was more than a physical need; it was a hunger to revisit that emotional precipice, to stand at its edge and feel that exhilarating, terrifying, and beautiful freefall all over again.