Diabolic
Trinity St Clair, Anthony Rosano Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the sweet, musky scent of their shared exertion. His thumb traced the delicate line of her jaw, a gentle but firm pressure that tilted her head back, exposing the pale column of her throat to the dim light. A single, glistening pearl escaped the corner of her lips, a testament to the intimacy they had just shared, and he caught it with a slow, deliberate swipe of his finger. Her eyes, dark pools of surrender and defiance, held his gaze as he brought that finger to his own mouth, tasting the complex, salty essence of her. A shuddering breath escaped her, her chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm that mirrored the frantic beating of her heart agat his. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his whisper a warm promise of possession that made her toes curl agat the rumpled sheets. The command was implicit in his touch, in the way his body caged hers, a silent decree that every last drop of their joining would be acknowledged. She felt the phantom echo of him on her tongue, a lingering warmth that was both a memory and a provocation. In the heavy, breathless silence that followed, the unspoken rule hung between them, transforming the aftermath into a new, more potent act of consummation.
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