Addicted2Girls
Samantha Rone, Holly Heart Pic(s)
The late afternoon sun slanted through the kitchen window, catching the dust motes dancing in the air like tiny, suspended fairies. She watched the woman across from her, a stranger until an hour ago, trace the rim of her wine glass with a fingertip that seemed to know its own music. A slow, knowing smile curved on the woman’s lips, a silent conversation that bypassed words entirely and spoke directly to the quickening pulse at her wrist. The scent of jasmine from the garden mingled with the faint, clean perfume of the other’s skin, an intoxicating blend that made the very air feel thick and syrupy. Her gaze dropped to the delicate hollow of the woman’s throat, watching the subtle flutter there, a captive bird beating in rhythm with her own heart. When a hand, cool from holding the glass, brushed agat her own, the contact was not an accident but a deliberate, electric charge that traveled up her arm. Fingers, surprisingly strong, laced with hers, their palms pressing together in a promise that was both gentle and absolute. Leaning in, she caught the warm, wine-dark scent of her companion’s breath, a prelude to the inevitable closing of the scant distance between them. In that suspended moment, the world outside the sun-dappled room ceased to exist, replaced by the profound, aching anticipation of a first, forbidden touch.
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