Diabolic
Amy Reid, Evan Stone Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with the scent of aged leather and the faint, sweet trace of a long-sipped amber liquor. His gaze was a tangible weight, a slow, deliberate caress that traveled from the curve of her shoulder down the elegant line of her spine, making every inch of skin hum in anticipation. She felt the whisper-soft brush of his knuckles agat the small of her back, a touch so light it was almost a question, yet it sent a shiver cascading through her entire being. The only sound was the soft rustle of silk as she shifted, the fabric sliding from her skin like a secret finally being confessed. His lips found the sensitive hollow where her neck met her shoulder, not with haste, but with a patient, exploring heat that promised a deeper unraveling. Her own hands rose, fingers tangling in the rich, dark wool of his jacket, pulling him closer until she could feel the steady, strong rhythm of his heart agat her own. The world outside the dimly lit room dissolved into an indistinct blur, all focus narrowing to the space where their bodies met, a silent, electric conversation. A low, appreciative murmur vibrated agat her throat, a wordless acknowledgment of the tension coiling tightly between them. This was a deliberate, luxurious undoing, a symphony of sensation building towards a crescendo yet unknown.
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