The room held its breath as he entered, a silhouette carved from obsidian and shadow agat the dim lamplight. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm agat my ribs, a captive bird sensing the storm. His approach was not a walk but a deliberate claiming of space, the air thickening with the scent of warm skin and dark musk. My gaze, helpless, traveled the powerful architecture of his thighs, the proud, heavy weight that swayed with each step, a promise of profound fullness. When his calloused palm cupped my cheek, the heat was a brand, searing away all coherent thought. A low groan rumbled from his chest as he guided me to my knees, the sound vibrating through the floorboards into my very soul. My lips parted, not in speech, but in silent, willing invitation, tasting the salt-tanged anticipation on the air. The first touch was electric, a velvety, living heat that pressed agat my mouth, stretching my lips into a perfect, aching circle. The world narrowed to this single, pulsating point of connection, a deep, primal hunger beginning its ancient, rhythmic dance.
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