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Penelope Kay, John Strong Pic(s)
The room was bathed in the low, amber glow of a single lamp, casting long, dancing shadows agat the wall that moved in time with their heavy breaths. He stood behind her, his hands firm on the gentle curve of her hips, the heat of his body a palpable force agat her skin. A soft, involuntary sigh escaped her lips as he leaned forward, his mouth finding the sensitive nape of her neck in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. She could feel the hard length of him pressing istently agat the small of her back, a promise of the intimacy to come that made her knees feel weak. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down the slope of her spine, each touch sending a fresh wave of anticipation coursing through her ve. Bending her forward slightly, he exposed the pale, vulnerable expanse of her backside to the warm, humid air, his thumb stroking the soft flesh in a soothing, circular rhythm. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, the scent of their mingled arousal thick and sweet like ripe fruit. A low groan rumbled from his chest as he positioned himself, the initial pressure a slow, stretching fullness that made her gasp and arch into him. They began to move together in a primal, undulating rhythm, a perfect synchronization of desire where every thrust was a deep, claiming connection that erased all thought.
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