Wicked
Becky Bandini, Seth Gamble Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the scent of warm skin and a faint, intoxicating perfume. Her breath hitched as his fingers traced a slow, deliberate path along the curve of her spine, each vertebra a small mountain under his exploring touch. A soft, involuntary sound escaped her lips, a sigh that was part relief and part desperate anticipation. He lowered his mouth to the sensitive hollow of her throat, his lips a brand of heat agat her fluttering pulse. The world narrowed to the feeling of his strong hands sliding around her waist, pulling her back agat the solid, unyielding plane of his chest. The luxurious fabric of her dress whispered a protest as it was gathered in his fists, the slow ascent of the material revealing the warm, smooth skin of her thighs. She arched into him, her head falling back onto his shoulder, offering the long, elegant column of her neck to his hungry kisses. Every nerve ending felt alive, singing with the promise of what was to come, a building tremor of pure need deep within her core. In that suspended moment, there was only the shared heat, the unspoken language of desire, and the profound, aching wait for the final surrender.
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