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Jasmine Jae, Kendra Cole Pic(s)
The warm, tropical night air, thick with the scent of plumeria and salt from the distant sea, clung to their skin like a second silken layer. She traced the delicate line of her lover’s collarbone with the very tip of her finger, feeling the subtle tremor that rippled through the slender frame pressed agat her. A soft sigh escaped parted lips, a sound swallowed by the gentle rustle of palm fronds overhead, their shadows dancing in the moonlight that filtered through the screens. Lowering her head, she brushed her mouth agat the pulse point at the base of the other woman’s throat, tasting the faint, clean sweat and the lingering sweetness of the evening’s wine. Her hands slid down, exploring the gentle curve of a waist, the smooth plane of a stomach, each touch a slow, deliberate question answered by a yielding arch of the body beneath her. The world beyond their private veranda ceased to exist, the only reality the heat building between them and the whispered promises breathed into the hollow of an ear. Fingertips found the damp warmth at the apex of her thighs, a silent, seeking pressure that drew a sharp, shuddering inhale and a name, spoken not as a word but as a plea. Their mouths met again, this time with a deep, languid hunger that spoke of a longing finally, exquisitely, being sated. In that suspended moment, with the stars wheeling silently above, they moved together in a rhythm as ancient and inevitable as the tide, two bodies becoming one seamless entity under the watchful, fragrant darkness.
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