Zerotolerancefilms
Sarah Jordan, Lee Stone Pic(s)
The air itself felt thick with the scent of his cologne, a dark spice that clung to my skin and filled my lungs with every breath. His large, warm hand settled possessively on the small of my back, a silent command that sent a shiver straight to my core. I could feel the latent strength in his fingers as they pressed gently, guiding me forward into the dim light. His voice was a low rumble, a vibration that traveled through my body when he spoke close to my ear, the words not as important as the intent behind them. My own pulse quickened, a frantic drumbeat agat the steady, confident pressure of his palm. The world narrowed to the space between our bodies, to the heat radiating from him and the way my dress felt like a fragile barrier. Every slight movement from him was an unspoken promise, a lesson in surrender that I was desperate to learn. The possessive gleam in his eyes held me captive, stripping away all pretense and leaving only raw, aching need. In that moment, there was no question of authority, only the overwhelming certainty of his dominance and my willing submission.
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