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Petra Blair, Charlotte Sins Pic(s)
The world narrowed to the space between our bodies, a charged atmosphere humming with the scent of her skin, a mix of warm vanilla and the salt of anticipation. My fingers traced the delicate ridge of her spine, a slow, deliberate journey from the nape of her neck down to the gentle swell where her back curved into softness. A sharp, quiet intake of breath was my only reward, a sound that fueled the heat pooling low in my own belly. I lowered my mouth to the pulse point at her throat, feeling the frantic rhythm there, a wild drumbeat echoing my own. Her hands came up to tangle in my hair, not guiding, but holding, anchoring herself as I explored the sensitive hollow of her collarbone with my tongue. The taste of her was intoxicating, a unique flavor I knew I would crave in the lonely hours of the night. A soft moan escaped her lips as my palm finally cupped the weight of her breast, my thumb circling a peak that hardened tantly beneath the thin fabric of her chemise. She arched into the touch, a silent plea for more, her body speaking a language of desire more eloquent than any words. In that suspended moment, there was nothing but the shared heat, the unspoken promises, and the exquisite friction of our yearning finally finding its release.
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