Jimmy Bud
Jimmy Bud, Lia Lin Pic(s)
Her slender fingers traced the outline of his chest as if memorizing a landscape she intended to revisit in her dreams. The air between them thickened with a heat that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun slanting through the blinds. She lowered herself with deliberate grace, her dark eyes holding his, a silent promise of surrender and discovery. The soft weight of her hair brushed against his thighs, and he felt a tremor of longing travel from his core to the tips of his fingers. Her lips, warm and yielding, found the pulse of his desire, and the world outside that room dissolved into a distant murmur. Each slow, reverent movement of her mouth was a language of its own, speaking of hunger that bordered on worship. He threaded his hands through her hair, not to guide, but to anchor himself against the rising tide of sensation. The pleasure built like a slow crescendo in his blood, a symphony of breath and soft sounds that bound them closer. When the moment crested, he felt her accept every wave with an intimacy that left them both breathless, connected by a shared secret. In the hush that followed, her gaze found his again, and the longing in it promised that this was only the beginning of their quiet, consuming passion.
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