Wicked
Tommy King, Lucas Frost Pic(s)
A low growl rumbled in the cavern of his chest, a primal sound that vibrated through the scant space between their bodies. Her answering sigh was a soft, surrendering breath, her head tilting back to expose the pale, vulnerable column of her throat. His calloused hands, no longer gentle, found the curve of her hips, his grip possessive and demanding as he pressed her agat the cool, unyielding wall. The air itself grew thick, charged with the raw scent of sweat and desire, a potent musk that stripped away all civilized pretence. Her fingers tangled in the dark forest of his hair, pulling him closer, a silent command for more, for everything. He answered by capturing her mouth in a fierce, claiming kiss, a battle of tongues that spoke of hunger long suppressed. The thin fabric of her clothing felt like an intolerable barrier, and with a single, fluid motion, he bared her skin to the dim light. A shudder wracked her frame as his mouth left a trail of fire down her neck, each touch a brand of pure, unadulterated need. In that moment, there was only tinct, a feral dance of two creatures answering the most ancient of calls.
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