Addicted2Girls
Abigail Mac, Tiffany Tyler Pic(s)
The low thrum of bass vibrated through the soles of her shoes as she moved through the haze of perfume and sweat, a current of anticipation humming just beneath her skin. His gaze was a physical touch, a slow, deliberate heat that started at the nape of her neck and traveled down her spine like a trail of melting wax. When his fingers finally brushed agat the small of her back, the contact was electric, a jolt that made her breath catch in her throat. He leaned in, his whisper a warm, whiskey-laced promise that ghosted over the shell of her ear, causing a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool night air waiting outside. The press of his body agat hers as they swayed to the music was an unspoken question, his thigh a firm pressure between her own that spoke of a shared, mounting urgency. She could taste the salt on his lower lip when she finally closed the minuscule distance, the kiss not a beginning but a culmination of every stolen glance and charged silence. His hand slid from her back to her hip, his grip possessive and sure, anchoring her in the swirling chaos of the room as the world narrowed to the space between their mouths. The fabric of her dress felt impossibly thin, every shift and movement telegraphing the hard lines of his body and the answering softness of her own. In that suspended moment, surrounded by the anonymous, pulsing dark, there was only the language of touch and the intoxicating freedom of surrender.
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