21Sextury
Nicole Love, Kristof Cale Pic(s)
The conference room door clicked shut, a sound that severed them from the world of deadlines and memos, leaving only the heavy silence of their shared anticipation. His gaze, usually so focused on quarterly reports, now traced the delicate line of her collarbone as she leaned back agat the polished mahogany table. The air, once stale with recycled air conditioning, grew thick with the scent of her perfume and the faint, clean smell of his starched shirt. His fingers, which had moments before been pointing at pie charts, found the small of her back, a tentative pressure that spoke volumes more than any boardroom presentation. A soft sigh escaped her lips as his thumb began a slow, deliberate arc agat the thin silk of her blouse, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath. The city lights, glittering through the floor-to-ceiling window, cast long, dancing shadows that merged their forms into one agat the far wall. She turned her head, her cheek brushing the rough wool of his suit jacket, and her eyes met his with a hunger that had been simmering through countless sterile meetings. He lowered his mouth to the sensitive curve of her neck, his breath a hot promise agat her pulse point, which now hammered a frantic rhythm agat his lips. In that hushed, illicit space, the only agenda was the slow, deliberate exploration of a tension that had finally, blissfully, snapped.
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