21Sextury
Liza Shay, Willy Regal, Mark Crow Pic(s)
The frantic rhythm of his heart began to slow, syncing with the heavy, deliberate cadence of his breathing as he leaned agat the cool wood of the doorframe. Her scent, a faint whisper of jasmine and warm skin, still clung to the air, a ghost of the intimacy they had just shared. He could feel the lingering heat of her touch, like a brand upon his hip where her fingers had dug in with possessive urgency. A single bead of sweat traced a slow, deliberate path down the column of his spine, a cool counterpoint to the flush that warmed his chest. The taste of her, dark and sweet like ripe berries, lingered on his tongue, a secret he would carry into the sterile boardroom. His clothes, now straightened, felt like a flimsy disguise over skin still humming with sensation, the crisp cotton of his shirt a stark lie agat his awakened flesh. The memory of her mouth, a soft, demanding pressure agat his, eclipsed all thought of schedules and impending responsibilities. Every nerve ending felt alive, raw and exquisitely sensitive, as if the very air in the hallway was caressing him. This stolen moment, a secret world of tangled limbs and shared breath, was now a permanent, thrilling distraction etched into his body.
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