Out Of The Family
Alura Jenson, Lucas Frost Pic(s)
Her silk-clad thigh brushed against his trouser leg, a whisper of heat that ignited a slow, deliberate ache in the pit of his stomach. The curve of her hip, poured into that midnight lace, promised a landscape of pleasure he ached to explore with his lips and tongue. His fingertips traced the delicate seam of her stocking, the tension in the air thickening with every inch of exposed skin, a silent dialogue of longing. She leaned back, offering the heavy swell of her breasts to the dim lamplight, a silent invitation that made his mouth go dry with a primitive, consuming desire. The scent of her perfume—jasmine and something darker, muskier—mingled with the heat radiating from her body, intoxicating him completely. He knelt before her, his hands sliding up the smooth, warm expanse of her thighs, and the world outside this room dissolved into nothingness. Her breath hitched as his mouth found the damp silk of her core, a shudder of pure, unadulterated pleasure coursing through her like a current. He worshipped her with a reverence that bordered on devotion, his tongue tracing patterns of fire that made her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him deeper into her heat. When she finally turned, offering him the ripe, full curve of her backside, the raw, primal connection between them snapped into a taut, electric thread. Their bodies moved as one in a timeless rhythm, a culmination of shared heat and unspoken promise, leaving them both breathless and tangled in the sweet, aching aftermath of their union.
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