Diabolic
Trinity St Clair, John Strong Pic(s)
His fingers traced the delicate curve of her collarbone, a whisper of contact that sent a shiver cascading down her spine. The air between them grew thick and warm, charged with the unspoken language of their shared breath. He leaned in, his lips finding not her mouth but the soft hollow of her throat, planting a kiss that was both a question and an answer. A soft sigh escaped her as her head tilted back, granting him access to the fluttering pulse beating just beneath her skin. His hands slid from her shoulders down the gentle slope of her back, pressing her closer until she could feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heart agat her own. The world outside their embrace dissolved into an indistinct haze, leaving only the scent of his skin and the warmth of his body as her entire universe. Every nerve ending seemed to awaken, hyper-aware of the texture of his shirt under her palms and the slight scratch of his stubble agat her neck. It was a silent, profound conversation spoken through the language of touch, a slow, building crescendo of sensation that promised more. In that suspended moment, nothing else existed but the exquisite, consuming intimacy of their connection.
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