Richard Manns World
Alexis Golden, Richard Mann Pic(s)
The first flare of longing kindled low in her belly as his dark gaze traced the pale curve of her shoulder, a silent promise that turned the hotel air thick and honeyed. She let the strap of her slip fall, a deliberate unveiling that answered his unspoken command with a heat that pooled between them. His broad hands found the dip of her waist, drawing her closer until the hard plane of his chest was a furnace against her yielding softness. The scent of his skin, sandalwood and salt, wrapped around her senses, and she leaned in to taste the pulse beating at the base of his throat. With a slow, reverent slide, she descended to her knees, her blonde hair spilling like a curtain of moonlight over his thighs. Her lips parted, not in surrender, but in a sacred offering, tracing the rigid line of his desire with a tender, exploratory heat. The low, guttural sound he made was a chord that vibrated through her, igniting a wildfire of pleasure that made her breath catch and her skin prickle with anticipation. She rose like a goddess from the altar, her eyes locked on his, and guided him back onto the cool, crisp sheets of the bed. Straddling him, she felt the powerful surge of his response beneath her, a silent conversation of pressure and yielding that built a rhythm of raw, unspoken connection. In the hush of that dim room, their bodies spoke a language older than words, a perfect, molten harmony of passion and surrender that left nothing between them but the shimmering heat of pure, shared desire.
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