Evilangel
Kitt Lacey, Bryan Gozzling Pic(s)
The thrum of the city was a distant, irrelevant hum, a world away from the charged silence between them in the shadowed alcove. His gaze, dark and unyielding, held hers with a gravity that stripped away all pretense, leaving only the raw, fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. A single, calloused finger traced the line of her jaw, a whisper of rough skin agat her unbearable softness, and her lips parted on a silent, surrendering sigh. The scent of him, of cold night air and warm leather, filled her senses, intoxicating and foreign. When his hand settled firmly on the small of her back, pulling her agat the hard plane of his body, a shiver of pure anticipation wracked her frame. She felt the possessive pressure of his thigh between hers, a bold promise of friction and heat that made her knees weaken. A low murmur, words lost but their intent clear as daylight, vibrated agat her ear as he leaned in, his breath a warm caress. Closing her eyes, she let the last vestige of resistance melt away, arching into his embrace, offering herself to the unknown thrill. This was no gentle seduction, but a delicious, public claiming that set her very soul alight.
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