Zerotolerancefilms
Katsuni, Mark Davis, Ben English Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken with the scent of his cologne, a dark and spicy promise that clung to the space between us as he moved closer, his shadow swallowing the light. My breath hitched, a tiny, captured thing, as his knuckles grazed the sensitive skin of my neck, a touch so deliberate it felt like a question posed directly to my pulse. His voice, when it came, was a low rumble that vibrated deep in my chest, a sound that bypassed thought and spoke directly to the primal core of me. I felt the solid heat of his body press agat my back, pinning me gently but irrevocably agat the edge of the desk, the hard wood a stark contrast to the yielding softness of my own flesh. One hand splayed across my stomach, holding me in place with an effortless authority that made my knees tremble and my ides liquefy with a sudden, shocking heat. His other hand tangled in my hair, not pulling, but commanding, tilting my head back until my lips were parted and vulnerable, an unspoken offering. I could feel the faint scratch of his stubble agat my temple, a delicious friction that promised more, so much more, as his mouth hovered just inches from my skin. Every nerve ending was alight, singing a desperate anthem of submission and wild anticipation, my entire world narrowing to the pressure of his grip and the intoxicating power he wielded so calmly. This was no gentle seduction; it was a claiming, a silent declaration of dominance that awakened a fierce, answering hunger deep within my soul.
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