Diabolic
Selma Sins, Mark Wood Pic(s)
The familiar creak of the front door was a signal that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine, a prelude to the evening’s unspoken promise. She remained perfectly still on the plush velvet chaise, the deep crimson fabric a stark contrast to her pale skin, which was warmed only by the flickering firelight. The scent of his cologne, a rich blend of sandalwood and spice, began to permeate the room, arriving before he did, awakening every nerve ending. She heard the heavy thud of his briefcase hitting the floor, followed by the softer sound of his footsteps approaching the study. The air grew thick with anticipation, charged with a silent understanding that needed no words. His shadow fell over her first, a long, dark shape that stretched across her body, and then she felt the heat of his presence directly behind her. A single, strong hand came to rest on her bare shoulder, the touch both possessive and reverent, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle on her collarbone. She let her head tilt back, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat, a silent offering as her eyes finally fluttered closed. His low, approving murmur vibrated through her, a sound that promised a night where every surprise would be a carefully unwrapped gift of sensation.
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