Diabolic
Aiden Ashley, Lucas Frost Pic(s)
The air in the room grew thick and heavy, charged with the scent of shared sweat and a forbidden longing that had finally broken its cha. His fingers, calloused and sure, traced a slow, deliberate path up the ide of her thigh, each inch a silent question that her shuddering sigh answered with a desperate plea. She arched her back, pressing herself into his palm as he cupped her, the thin fabric of her lingerie a maddening barrier that did little to contain the heat blooming beneath his touch. A low groan escaped his lips when she turned, her own hands finding the hard plane of his chest before sliding down to fumble with the buckle of his belt. The metallic clink was a gunshot in the quiet room, a promise of what was to come as she lowered herself before him, her eyes dark pools of unwavering intent. He tangled his hands in her hair, not to guide but to feel the silken strands as she took him into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth with a practiced ease that stole his breath. Her tongue moved in slow, languid circles, a torturous rhythm that made his knees weaken and his grip tighten, every nerve ending screaming with pleasure. She accepted him fully, her throat relaxing in a deep, surrendering motion that left no part of him untouched, a perfect, consuming seal that pulsed with a life of its own. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the slick, intimate noise of her devotion, a symphony of raw need that built towards an inevitable, shattering crescendo.
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