Puretaboo
Codi Vore, Jay Romero Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, a palpable tension that clung to the skin like a second, heated layer. His gaze was the first cast, a deliberate and weighted thing that found her across the murmuring room, a direct current that bypassed all other conversation. She felt it as a physical touch, a slow, trailing awareness that started at the nape of her neck and traveled with deliberate slowness down the length of her spine. A faint, knowing smile played upon her lips, the only outward sign that she had taken the bait, that she was willingly playing this game. He moved then, not with haste but with a predator’s languid grace, each step closing the distance as if reeling in an invisible thread connected directly to her core. The scent of him reached her first, a clean, masculine warmth that promised a storm of sensation, and she drew it deep into her lungs. When his fingers finally, lightly, brushed agat the bare skin of her arm, it was not a question but a confirmation, an electric jolt that promised a deeper connection. Her breath hitched, a tiny, captured sound, as she leaned imperceptibly into the contact, surrendering to the inevitable pull. This was only the beginning, the first tantalizing taste of a conquest that had already, irrevocably, begun.
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