Diabolic
Keely Rose, Ryan Mclane Pic(s)
The air in the room grew thick and heavy, charged with a tension that was both terrifying and irresistible. His gaze, usually so paternal, now held a dark, smoldering heat that traced the delicate line of my collarbone. A single, deliberate finger reached out, its touch not a shock but a slow, searing brand agat the flushed skin of my shoulder. My breath hitched, catching in my throat as that touch began a languid journey downward, following the treacherous curve beside my breast. The thin fabric of my camisole was no barrier, tead becoming a silken whisper agat my sensitized skin, amplifying every minute shift of his hand. I could feel the hard plane of his chest agat my back, a solid wall of warmth that promised both captivity and shelter. A low murmur vibrated agat my ear, the words indistinct but their intent a clear, liquid fire pooling low in my belly. My own resolve melted away, replaced by a trembling anticipation that made my knees weak and my pulse thunder in my ears. This was the point of no return, a silent surrender to a desire that had simmered for far too long, finally boiling over into inevitable, exquisite sin.
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