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Avi Love, Zoey Monroe Pic(s)
The soft glow of the lamplight caught the sheen of perspiration on her skin as she arched beneath my touch, a silent offering. My fingers traced the delicate curve of her spine, feeling each vertebra like a hidden pearl beneath the silk of her flesh. A low, throaty murmur escaped her lips as I leaned down, my breath ghosting across the nape of her neck before my mouth found the sensitive hollow there. The scent of her, a heady mix of night-blooming jasmine and pure, warm woman, filled my senses, intoxicating and primal. I could feel the frantic rhythm of her heart answering the eager pressure of my thigh between hers, a syncopated drumbeat of shared desire. Her hands, suddenly urgent, tangled in my hair, pulling me closer until our mouths met in a deep, searching kiss that tasted of salt and secrets. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, the slide of skin agat skin, the whisper of sheets as we moved together in an ancient, knowing dance. Every sigh, every tremble, was a language we understood perfectly, a conversation written only on each other’s bodies. And in that suspended moment, as her climax broke over her in a shuddering wave, I felt my own release cresting, a perfect, shared sunrise in the dark.
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