Diabolic
Ashley Aleigh, Jon Jon Pic(s)
The heavy velvet of the blindfold was the only barrier, a profound and deliberate darkness that heightened every other sense into a state of acute awareness. His breath, warm and carrying the faint, clean scent of his skin, ghosted across the nape of her neck a moment before his lips did the same, a slow, deliberate trail that ignited a shiver down her spine. The world had narrowed to the sound of his steady breathing, the rustle of expensive fabric as he moved behind her, and the hammering of her own pulse in her ears. His hands, large and impossibly sure, settled on her shoulders, their weight both a comfort and a promise, his thumbs pressing in slow circles that melted the tension from her muscles. She felt the cool air of the room kiss the newly exposed skin of her back as he parted the delicate fastenings of her dress with a patience that was its own form of exquisite torment. A low, appreciative murmur vibrated agat her shoulder blade, a wordless sound that spoke volumes of his intent, sending another wave of heat coursing through her. Then came the touch of leather, smooth and cool, tracing the line of her spine from the base of her skull to the dip just above her hips, a sensation so starkly contrasting the warmth of his hands it made her gasp. He followed the path of the strap with his mouth, his tongue a brand of fire that erased the coolness and left a trail of liquid need in its wake. In the absolute blackness, her entire universe became the symphony of these sensations, a masterful composition of texture, temperature, and tantalizing pressure that promised a lesson in pleasure far beyond any she had ever known.
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