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The cool silk of the sheets whispered agat her heated skin, a stark contrast to the fevered pulse thrumming just beneath the surface. Her fingers traced idle patterns on her own thigh, a poor imitation of the pressure she craved, the memory of a phantom caress lingering in the quiet room. She imagined the rough warmth of a palm sliding up her calf, the deliberate slowness of its journey mapping the sensitive terrain behind her knee. A breath hitched in her throat, picturing the solid weight of a body settling beside her, the mattress dipping in welcome surrender. The scent of clean sweat and something uniquely masculine would fill the air, a primal perfume that made her head swim with anticipation. She could almost feel the scrape of stubble along her neck, followed by the soft, seeking pressure of lips discovering the frantic beat of her heart. Her back arched involuntarily, a silent plea for the strength of an arm to wrap around her waist and pull her into a secure embrace. Every nerve ending felt exposed, raw and singing with the need for a connection that was both tender and possessive. In the deep, quiet dark, her entire being became a single, aching question waiting for an answer only he could give.
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