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Sally D’Angelo, Tony Rubino Pic(s)
Her desire was a slow, honeyed warmth that pooled low in her belly as his gaze traced the elegant curve of her neck. She let her fingers drift through the silver threads of her hair, a silent invitation that hung in the air like the scent of jasmine. The heat of his body against hers was a promise, a pulsing rhythm that matched the wild, reckless beat of her own heart. With a languid grace, she unfurled the silk of her blouse, revealing the heavy, full moons of her breasts, their pale skin glowing in the dim light. He knelt before her, a supplicant at an altar of pleasure, his longing a tangible pressure on her flushed skin. The velvet of her lips parted as she drew him closer, the anticipation a sweet, aching tension coiling in her core. Her hands guided him to the warm, yielding valley between her breasts, a cradle of soft flesh and eager heat. The friction was a slow, delicious burn, a dance of silk against steel that ignited a fire in her very soul. A shudder of pure, unadulterated pleasure rippled through her as she tasted the salt of his desire, a secret shared in the hushed language of their bodies. In that final, shattering moment of connection, she felt his passion spill into her, a warm, possessive tide that claimed her completely.
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