Devilsfilm
Arietta Adams, Chris Cock Pic(s)
The afternoon sun cast long golden fingers through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the heated air between us. His gaze, heavy with unspoken intent, traced a slow, deliberate path from my lips down to the frantic pulse at my throat. A calloused hand, warm and sure, found the small of my back, pressing me into the solid wall of his chest until I could feel the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart. The scent of him, clean sweat and warm skin, filled my senses as his other hand slid upward, fingers tangling in my hair to tilt my head back. A low murmur vibrated agat my ear, a promise of things to come that sent a shiver cascading down my spine. I felt the hard ridge of his desire press istently agat my belly, a thrilling confirmation of the tension coiling deep within my own core. His mouth descended, not in a rush, but with a devastating slowness that made my knees weaken, his lips claiming mine in a kiss that was both tender and fiercely possessive. Every nerve ending sang with anticipation, my body arching into his of its own volition, surrendering to the raw, primal energy that crackled between us. In that suspended moment, the outside world fell away, leaving only the intoxicating promise of exploration and the heady thrill of the forbidden.
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