<\/a><\/p>\n\u00a0Tauer, \u00a0No. 2 L’Air Du Desert Marocain<\/h3>\n
It’s not even noon and the sun is already blazing, igniting everything. Even the walls relent and shade doesn’t stand a chance. A barely breeze ruffles the corners of her silk scarf, tacked half-heartedly (if hopefully) in the window. There’s no combatting this kind of heat. Surrender and stillness are their only arsenal. She reaches a hand to brush his brow. \u00a0So languid is her movement that hardly a ripple upsets the pool of perspiration that has collected in the v-shaped space where her collar bone meets her shoulder. He licks his lips and kisses her fingertips. For an instant they shudder.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u00a0Tauer, \u00a0No. 2 L’Air Du Desert Marocain It’s not even noon…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":512,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false},"categories":[26],"tags":[93,97,90,91,95,98,101,100,99,72],"yoast_head":"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\t\n\t\n\n\n\t\n