Puretaboo
Anny Aurora, Brad Newman Pic(s)
The world narrowed to the space between our bodies, the air thickening with the scent of warm skin and anticipation. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path from the hollow of my throat to the curve of my hip, a silent question that made my breath catch. Every nerve ending awakened, humming with a current that seemed to pull me closer to his heat. The low light gilded the sheen of perspiration on his shoulders, and I watched the shift of muscle as he leaned in, his mouth finding the sensitive place just below my ear. A soft sigh escaped me, lost agat the pressure of his lips as they began a languid journey downward. The rough texture of his palms agat the softness of my stomach created a delicious friction, a contrast that sent shivers along my spine. I arched into his touch, my own hands exploring the strong plane of his back, feeling the powerful rhythm moving beneath his skin. The only sounds were our ragged breaths and the whisper of cotton as the last barriers between us finally fell away, leaving only the electric promise of skin on skin. In that suspended moment, before the storm broke, everything was heat and hunger and the profound certainty of what was to come.
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