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Nicole Moore, Leah Livingston Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to shimmer with a shared, unspoken heat, thick with the scent of warm skin and a lingering trace of expensive perfume. Her fingers, trembling only slightly, traced the delicate path of a collarbone she knew as intimately as her own, feeling the frantic pulse that beat just beneath the surface. A soft, breathy sigh escaped parted lips, a sound that was both question and answer, swallowed by the warm darkness of the room. The silk of a robe whispered agat bare legs as a body shifted, a deliberate, slow movement that spoke of years of longing finally given permission. Eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, met in the dim light, reflecting a mixture of awe and a raw, primal hunger that stripped away all pretense. A palm, warm and sure, slid down the curve of a spine, eliciting a sharp, involuntary arch and a low moan that vibrated through them both. Every touch was an exploration, a rediscovery of familiar territory made thrillingly new by the context of this forbidden intimacy. The taste of salt and something uniquely, essentially *her* lingered on a tongue that darted out to moisten swollen lips. In that suspended moment, the world outside ceased to exist, reduced to the symphony of quickening breaths and the electric current passing between two bodies converging as one.
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