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Prinzzess, Laela Pryce Pic(s)
The air in the room was thick and sweet, a heavy perfume of our mingled sweat and the lingering scent of spilled wine on the rumpled sheets. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down the arch of my spine, each vertebra a small mountain under his touch, sending shivers that pooled low in my belly. I arched agat him, the coarse hair on his chest a delicious friction agat my sensitized skin, a silent plea for more. The only light came from the neon sign across the street, casting our entangled forms in a pulsating, crimson glow that made the world outside vanish. My mouth found the salt-damp hollow of his throat, tasting the frantic rhythm of his pulse as it hammered agat my tongue, a wild drumbeat answering my own. He murmured my name, not a question but a statement of possession, his voice a low gravel that vibrated through me as his hands gripped my hips. The slide of skin agat skin became a slick, primal dance, each movement building a desperate heat that threatened to consume us both. I could feel the tension coiling deep within him, a gathering storm that mirrored the ache blooming ide me, an unbearable pressure seeking release. In that final, breathless moment, as the city slept unaware below, we shattered together into a thousand glittering pieces, lost to everything but the raw, consuming fire between us.
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