Evilangel
Cecilia Scott, Chad Rockwell, John Price Pic(s)
The first man’s hands, rough and knowing, settled on her hips with a possessive weight that sent a shiver up her spine, while the second’s mouth found the delicate curve of her neck, his breath a hot, damp promise agat her skin. A low groan escaped her lips as one palm slid upward, cupping the full weight of her breast, his thumb circling a peak that hardened tantly to his touch. The other man’s fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down the valley of her back, coming to rest just above the swell of her rear, pressing her forward into the solid warmth of the first. The air grew thick with the scent of their mingled sweat and the faint, musky perfume of arousal, a heady cocktail that made her head spin. She could feel the hard ridge of one man’s desire pressed agat her stomach, a relentless pressure that mirrored the istent exploration of his partner’s tongue along her collarbone. Every inch of her skin became a map of sensation, each touch a new coordinate of pleasure, from the scrape of stubble on her shoulder to the gentle bite of teeth on her earlobe. Their movements were a perfectly unscripted dance, a synchronized rhythm of grasping hands and seeking mouths that left her breathless and aching for more. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, this tangle of limbs and whispered encouragements that built a fire deep within her core. It was an overwhelming surrender to dual attentions, a deliciously helpless feeling of being utterly consumed by a shared, primal hunger.
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