Nurumassage
Lacy Lennon, Seth Gamble Pic(s)
A sharp, indrawn breath was not her own, the sound freezing the humid air of the room where moments before only the slick slide of skin and soft, pleading whispers had existed. His body went rigid above hers, a statue carved from warmth and sudden tension, his gaze locked on something over her shoulder. The gentle pressure of his hand on her hip tightened from a caress into an anchor, holding her fast agat the sudden, cold dread that washed over her flushed skin. Her own eyes widened, searching his face for a confirmation of the intrusion she could feel prickling the nape of her neck like an unwelcome chill. The world, which had shrunk to the dimensions of this tangled sheet and the rhythm of their joining, violently expanded to include the silent, watching presence in the doorway. A single bead of sweat traced a slow, deliberate path from his temple down the corded strength of his neck, and she watched its journey, mesmerized by this tiny testament to a passion so brutally interrupted. The scent of their union, once an intoxicating perfume, now seemed to hang heavy and accusatory in the suddenly still air. Every nerve ending, once alight with pleasure, now screamed with a raw, exposed vulnerability, hyper-aware of the audience to their most intimate confession. In the profound silence that followed, the only movement was the frantic, trapped flutter of her own heart agat his chest, a wild bird beating agat the bars of a cage whose door had just been slammed shut.
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