Wicked
Chanel Preston, Seth Gamble Pic(s)
The air in the room grew thick and heavy, charged with an unspoken anticipation that prickled agat her skin. His gaze was a physical touch, a slow, deliberate caress that traveled from the arch of her foot to the vulnerable curve of her ankle. A single, calloused finger traced a path up her calf, leaving a trail of fire in its wake that made her muscles tremble. She let her head fall back, a soft sigh escaping her lips as his hands explored the delicate bones and tender flesh, mapping her with an artist’s reverence. Every gentle squeeze, every possessive stroke, was a silent promise whispered agat her flesh, building a delicious tension deep within her core. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, to the scent of his skin and the sound of their mingling breaths. He shifted closer, his warmth enveloping her as his thumbs pressed into the sole of her foot, a perfect, aching pressure that made her gasp. Pleasure, sharp and sweet, radiated up her leg, coiling low in her belly with an istent, throbbing rhythm. In that suspended moment, there was nothing but the exquisite sensation of being utterly known and completely undone by his masterful, intimate touch.
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