At sixty, Marianne had thought passion belonged to her past. But Alex, young enough to be her son, proved her wrong with a single daring kiss. She welcomed him into her arms, laughter bubbling as his warmth pressed against her. His hands traced her curves with hungry devotion, and she let herself melt into the moment, heart racing with forgotten excitement. When they finally came together, it was tender yet urgent—two bodies meeting without hesitation. Every sigh, every gasp, reminded her she was still alive, still wanted, still free to take pleasure without apology. Afterward, wrapped in his arms, Marianne whispered with a smile, “No shame. No regrets.” And for the first time in years, she truly meant it.

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