My brown hair spills over my shoulders in soft waves, slightly tousled, like I'm just run my fingers through it. It frames my face perfectly, brushing against my skin in a way that makes you want to do the same.
There’s a heat in my gaze—quiet, confident, a little teasing. I don’t look at you all at once; I'm letting your eyes linger, then drift, then return again, like I know exactly what I'm doing.
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