The room seemed to pulse with a heat all its own, a thick, honeyed warmth that clung to our skin as his mouth found mine in a devouring kiss. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as his hands mapped the arch of my back, learning the landscape of my body with a possessive hunger. He lowered himself, his breath a hot promise agat my stomach before his lips traced a searing path downward, and I gasped as his tongue discovered the most intimate part of me, a slow, deliberate worship that made my thoughts unravel. I cried out, a raw, pleading sound as the sensation built into an unbearable crest, my hips rising to meet his relentless rhythm. When he moved over me again, his eyes dark with intent, I guided him ide, a slow, filling pressure that made us both shudder with the rightness of it. Our bodies moved in a primal, perfect sync, the world narrowing to the slick friction of skin and the guttural sounds torn from our throats. I could feel the tension coiling deep within him, a gathering storm that mirrored my own impending release, our shared breaths coming in ragged pants. With a final, deep thrust, a guttural groan was wrenched from his chest, and I felt the hot, liquid proof of his climax pulse deep ide me, a claiming that sent my own pleasure crashing over the edge in a blinding, shattering wave. We collapsed together, spent and breathless, the air heavy with the scent of us and the profound, echoing silence that follows a perfect storm.
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