Alex Adams
Alex Adams, Cami Strella Pic(s)
Her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose as she tilted her head, the warm lamplight catching the curve of her smile and the dark fire in her eyes. He watched the slow, deliberate way she wet her lips, a silent promise that coiled low in his belly like a sleeping serpent waking to the scent of prey. The air between them grew thick with unspoken longing, each heartbeat a drumbeat drawing them closer across the worn wooden floor. She reached up to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and the motion pulled her blouse taut across the generous swell of her chest, a landscape of soft shadows and inviting heat. His fingers itched to trace the delicate skin at her wrist, to feel the pulse that mirrored his own frantic rhythm, but he held back, savoring the exquisite torture of anticipation. A low, breathy laugh escaped her, a sound like honey over gravel, and she stepped into his space, her warmth a tangible wave that washed over his skin. Her hand found the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair with a possessive gentleness that made his breath catch and his desire sharpen to a fine point. As she leaned in, the scent of her—vanilla, musk, and something faintly floral—filled his senses, intoxicating him more than any wine ever could. Her lips hovered a whisper from his, and in that suspended moment, the entire universe narrowed to the promise of her touch, a connection begging to be forged in fire and flesh. When she finally pressed her mouth to his, it was not a kiss but a surrender, a shared heat that bloomed through them both, igniting a passion that promised to consume everything in its path.
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