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Faye Reagan, Sandy Summers Pic(s)
The low thrum of the bass vibrated through the soles of her shoes as she moved through the warm, dimly lit space, a current of anticipation humming just beneath her skin. Her gaze, heavy-lidded and deliberate, swept across the room, catching the glint of amber liquid in glasses and the flash of a smile from a stranger in the crowd. The scent of night-blooming jasmine from an open window mingled with the faint, intoxicating perfume of skin warmed by the close atmosphere. She felt the brush of a man’s arm agat her bare shoulder, a fleeting contact that sent a spark of heat straight to her core, a silent question hanging in the air between them. His eyes, dark and intent, held hers for a moment too long, a clear and unspoken invitation that made her breath catch. She allowed a slow, knowing smile to curve her lips as she turned more fully toward him, the silk of her dress whispering agat her thighs. The noise of the party seemed to fade into a distant murmur, the world narrowing to the space where their bodies almost touched. He leaned in, his voice a low rumble felt as much as heard, the words lost but their meaning crystal clear in the charged silence. This was the beginning of something, a promise of tangled limbs and shared breath, and she stepped forward to meet it.
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