Diabolic
Alison Rey, Logan Pierce Pic(s)
The room seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the soft rustle of cotton as his fingers traced a path from the slope of my shoulder down to the small of my back. A low hum vibrated in his chest, a sound felt more than heard, as he pulled me closer until the heat of his body seeped through the thin barrier of my clothes. His scent, a mix of clean soap and something uniquely masculine, filled my senses, making my head feel light. I tilted my chin up, my lips parting in a silent invitation that he answered with a slow, deliberate kiss, his mouth moving agat mine with a practiced ease that sent shivers along my spine. One hand tangled in my hair, gently tilting my head to deepen the connection, while the other splayed possessively agat the base of my spine. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, to the taste of him and the feel of his heart hammering a frantic rhythm agat my own. Every nerve ending awoke, alight with a delicious anticipation that coiled low in my belly. A soft sigh escaped me, lost agat his lips as his thumb stroked a slow, hypnotic circle on the sensitive skin just above my hip. In that suspended moment, there was nothing but the languid, building pressure of a shared need, a silent promise of what was yet to come.
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