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Ember Snow, Macy Meadows Pic(s)
Her breath hitched as skilled fingers traced the delicate curve of her hip, a slow, deliberate path that ignited a trail of fire across her skin. The air in the room grew thick, charged with the scent of their mingling perfumes and the faint, salty sweetness of anticipation. A low, throaty murmur escaped her lips, a sound swallowed by the hungry pressure of another mouth claiming hers in a deep, searching kiss. Every nerve ending awoke as a palm cupped the full weight of her breast, a thumb brushing over a taut peak until she arched into the touch. The world narrowed to the feeling of soft, yielding flesh agat her own, the slide of sweat-slicked skin creating a friction that was both torment and bliss. She tangled her hands in silken hair, pulling her lover closer, needing to erase any last whisper of space between them. A gasp was torn from her throat as a thigh pressed istently agat her core, the pressure a delicious promise of what was to come. The only light came from the streetlamp outside, casting long, dancing shadows that mirrored their frantic, entangled movements on the wall. In that hazy, breathless darkness, there was nothing but the symphony of ragged breaths, whispered pleas, and the overwhelming sensation of being utterly, completely consumed.
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