Eva Fay
Jesus Reyes, Eva Fay Pic(s)
Her dark-framed glasses slipped down her nose as she tilted her chin, the glass catching the lamplight like a secret she was about to confess. His gaze traced the delicate line of her collarbone before settling on the swell of her chest, where her breath quickened beneath the thin cotton of her blouse. She felt the heat of his presence before he touched her, a magnetic pull that made her thighs press together beneath the worn denim of her jeans. He reached out, his thumb brushing the curve of her jaw, and the simple contact sent a tremor of longing straight to the hollow of her belly. She bit her lower lip, a soft gasp escaping as his other hand found the small of her back, drawing her closer until the warmth of his body radiated through her. The scent of his skin—sandalwood and salt—wrapped around her like a slow-burning promise, and she let her head fall back, offering the pale column of her throat to his hungry gaze. His fingers slid beneath the hem of her shirt, tracing the ladder of her ribs with a reverence that made her shudder, each touch a whispered question she answered with a soft, needy arch of her spine. She turned in his arms, pressing her round curves against his hard chest, and felt the answering throb of his desire through the layers of fabric between them. Her hands found the nape of his neck, pulling his mouth to hers, and the kiss was a slow, deliberate unraveling—a dance of tongues and heat that promised more than either dared to speak. When he finally pulled back, his breath ragged against her cheek, she knew the night ahead would be a symphony of shared pleasure, each note building toward a crescendo only they could compose.
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