Evilangel
Carolina Sweets, Bryan Gozzling Pic(s)
The humid evening air clung to our skin like a second layer, thick with the scent of magnolia blossoms and the distant promise of rain. His hands, calloused from a day’s honest work, traced a slow, deliberate path down the curve of my spine, each touch a spark igniting a trail of fire along my nerves. I arched into him, my back meeting the solid warmth of his chest as his lips found the sensitive hollow of my throat, his breath a warm, damp caress that made me shudder. The world narrowed to this porch swing’s gentle creak, a rhythmic accompaniment to the symphony of crickets and our own ragged breathing. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as I turned my face to his, our mouths meeting in a deep, searching kiss that tasted of sweet tea and pure, unadulterated want. He murmured my name agat my lips, a low, gravelly sound that vibrated through me, his hands sliding down to cup my hips, anchoring me to this moment, to him. The thin cotton of my sundress felt like an unbearable barrier, and I guided his hand beneath the hem, gasping as his palm met the heated skin of my thigh. Every sense was heightened, from the rough texture of his jeans agat my bare legs to the intoxicating mix of his natural scent and the evening’s floral perfume. In that suspended twilight, we were the only two people in existence, moving together in a slow, primal dance of discovery and urgent, shared need.
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