Evilangel
Tory Lane, Jaelyn Fox Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the scent of smoldering sandalwood and the salt of her skin. His gaze was a physical weight, tracing the path of a single bead of sweat as it journeyed from the hollow of her throat, over the delicate ridge of her collarbone, and down the gentle slope of her breast. She arched into that invisible touch, a low hum vibrating in her chest, a sound that was both invitation and command. Her fingers, tipped with nails the color of a deep bruise, slid slowly up his forearm, feeling the tense cord of muscle beneath the skin. The world narrowed to the space between their bodies, the only light coming from the dozen flickering candles that cast long, dancing shadows agat the walls. He lowered his mouth to the place where the sweat bead had vanished, his lips not quite touching her, yet the heat of his breath was a more potent caress than any kiss. A shudder ran through her, and her eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the exquisite torment of this anticipation. The silk of her robe whispered agat the floor as she shifted, pressing herself more firmly agat the solid strength of him. In the heavy silence, broken only by the crackle of the flames, the unspoken promise of what was to come hung between them, a palpable, intoxicating spell.
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