Zerotolerancefilms
Alexis Tae, Lucas Frost Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken with the heat of his proximity, a palpable tension that clung to my skin like a second layer. His knuckles, a whisper away from my jaw, traced the frantic pulse beating at the base of my throat, a silent question I was too breathless to answer. The low timbre of his voice vibrated through me as he murmured something lost to the roaring in my ears, his breath a warm caress agat my temple. My back arched tinctively, pressing into the solid strength of the doorframe as his other hand settled on my hip, a possessive anchor in the swirling haze of desire. The scent of him, clean soap and something uniquely masculine, filled my lungs, intoxicating and familiar. I felt the soft brush of his lips agat the sensitive shell of my ear, a promise of things to come that sent a shiver cascading down my spine. Every rational thought dissolved into the sensation of his thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles agat the thin fabric of my dress. My own hands, seemingly of their own volition, rose to clutch at the soft cotton of his shirt, pulling him infinitesimally closer. In that suspended moment, the world narrowed to the space where our bodies almost met, a charged silence screaming with unspoken consent.
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