Evilangel
Alessandra Amore, Kristof Cale, Charlie Dean Pic(s)
The air itself felt thick and heavy, charged with the scent of warm skin and a faint, musky anticipation. His hands, calloused and knowing, traced a slow, deliberate path down the curve of her spine, each touch a silent promise of what was to come. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped her lips as his fingers found the sensitive hollow at the small of her back, pressing firmly to arch her body agat his. The world narrowed to the feeling of his hard chest agat her yielding softness, the rough texture of his jeans a stark contrast to the smooth silk of her inner thigh. He lowered his mouth to the pulse beating wildly at the base of her throat, his tongue a hot, wet point of contact that sent electric currents straight to her core. Every nerve ending felt alive, hyper-aware of the possessive weight of his leg between hers, a deliberate barrier and an invitation all at once. The low, guttural sound he made vibrated through her, a primal echo of the need coiling deep within her own belly. She could feel the powerful muscles of his shoulders bunch and shift under her palms as she clung to him, her own control beginning to fray at the edges. This was a dance of pure sensation, a building rhythm of breath and friction that promised a shattering, inevitable conclusion.
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