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Zoey Monroe, Danica Dillan Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with a palpable energy that made the fine hairs on her arms stand at attention. His gaze was a physical weight, a slow, deliberate caress that traveled from the hollow of her throat down to the frantic pulse beating at her wrist. When his fingers finally, achingly slowly, traced the line of her jaw, it was not a touch but a catalyst, sending a shiver of pure voltage cascading down her spine. A low, guttural sound escaped him, a rumble of pure need that vibrated through the scant space between their bodies, and she answered with a sharp intake of breath that was half gasp, half surrender. The scent of his skin, clean sweat and something darkly primal, filled her lungs, intoxicating and urgent. There was no more patience, only the raw, uncontainable force of their collision, a sudden conflagration that erased all thought. His mouth found hers not with gentle inquiry but with a desperate, claiming hunger, a fusion of lips and tongue that tasted of salt and reckless abandon. Every point of contact became a supernova, a brilliant, burning flare of sensation that melted the boundaries of where she ended and he began. In that incandescent tant, the world narrowed to the searing heat of their joined bodies, a chain of perfect, shuddering release that left them trembling and utterly remade.
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