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Honey Hayes, Reyna Delacruz Pic(s)
The air hummed with a low, percussive bass that vibrated up through the soles of her feet, a primal rhythm that seemed to sync with the quickening pulse in her throat. A kaleidoscope of colored lights swept across the room, catching the sheen of sweat on bare shoulders and the glint of anticipation in half-lidded eyes. She felt the heat of bodies pressing close, a shifting mosaic of warmth and fleeting contact that made her skin tingle with awareness. His hand found the small of her back, a firm, possessive pressure that sent a shiver cascading down her spine, pooling as a low, liquid heat deep within her. The scent of him, clean soap and something darker, muskier, filled her senses as he leaned in, his breath a warm caress agat her ear. Her own heartbeat thrummed in her ears, a frantic counterpoint to the music as his fingers traced a slow, deliberate path up her side, skimming the sensitive curve of her waist. A soft, involuntary sigh escaped her lips, lost in the din but answered by the slight, knowing curve of his smile in the semi-darkness. Every nerve ending felt alive, hyper-aware of the rough texture of his jeans agat her thigh and the promise in his heavy-lidded gaze. In that suspended moment, the world narrowed to this single point of contact, a delicious, building tension that whispered of surrender and the night’s unspoken possibilities.
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