Puretaboo
Marykate Moss, Cory Chase, Stirling Cooper Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the unspoken promise of your arrival. I traced the path a single drop of condensation would take down the side of my glass, imagining it was your finger tracing a slow, deliberate line along my spine. The low light gilded the edges of the room, pooling in the hollows where a body might rest, waiting. Every faint sound from the hallway sent a jolt through me, a silent percussion agat my ribs that quickened my breath. I could almost smell the phantom scent of your skin, a faint whisper of salt and night air clinging to the space you had yet to occupy. The silk of my dress whispered agat my thighs with the slightest shift of weight, a maddening caress that anticipated the roughness of your touch. My lips parted, tasting the anticipation on my tongue, a metallic tang of desire sharp and sweet. The world had narrowed to this single point in time, a held breath before the storm of your presence broke over me. Then, the door handle turned, a quiet, final click that severed the tension and began everything.
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