Lesbian Crime Stories

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Keira Croft, Izzabella Robbins Pic(s)

The dim light of the hotel room caught the glint of handcuffs dangling from her fingertips as she pressed me agat the velvet-lined headboard, her breath a warm promise agat my neck. Her lips traced a slow, deliberate path along my collarbone while her fingers worked open the buttons of my silk blouse with practiced precision. I could feel the cool metal of the handcuffs brush agat my wrist before she secured it to the ornate bedpost, the click echoing in the quiet space between our ragged breaths. Her mouth found mine in a hungry kiss that tasted of stolen wine and secrets, her tongue exploring with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how to take what she wanted. She moved lower, her teeth grazing my nipple through the lace of my bra before her warm mouth closed over it, drawing a gasp from my lips that she swallowed with another kiss. The scent of her perfume—jasmine and danger—filled my senses as her hand slid down my stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my trousers. Her touch was both question and command, mapping the landscape of my desire with knowing strokes that made my hips arch agat her palm. In that suspended moment between law and surrender, every nerve ending sang with the thrill of our shared transgression, the world outside forgotten. She whispered words agat my damp skin that weren’t apologies but invitations, her voice a low vibration that promised this was only the beginning of our beautiful crime.