Sis Loves Me
Haley Spades, Michael Swayze Pic(s)
Her golden hair spilled across the pillow like a whisper of sunlight, and the way her breath hitched when his gaze met hers was a silent confession of shared longing. His towering frame cast a shadow that seemed to claim the space between them, yet his touch, when it finally came, was a study in reverent hesitation against the curve of her spine. She arched into the warmth of his palm, a feline stretch of surrender, her small breasts rising with each shallow, expectant breath as if offering themselves to the evening air. The air itself grew thick with the scent of her skin—a blend of vanilla and salt—and he inhaled it like a man tasting a memory he never wanted to forget. Her fingers traced the hard lines of his shoulders, mapping the terrain of his strength, while her lips parted in a silent prayer for the pleasure she sensed trembling just beneath his restraint. He lowered his mouth to the hollow of her throat, and the heat there bloomed outward, a slow tide of desire that pulled her hips instinctively toward his. The curve of her backside pressed against him, a bold, wordless invitation, and he answered with a low growl that vibrated through her bones like a struck chord. She knelt before him, her gaze lifted in a mixture of innocence and wicked promise, and the anticipation coiled in her belly, a silken knot of pure, aching need. Her lips found the heat of him, and the world narrowed to the rhythm of her devotion, each stroke a language of longing that he answered with trembling fingers buried in her hair. When the storm finally broke, it came as a shuddering wave of release, and she drank in his pleasure as if it were the very nectar of connection, their shared heat lingering long after the last sigh faded into the quiet dark.
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