Diabolic
Belle Noire, John Strong Pic(s)
His fingers traced the delicate curve of her collarbone, a slow, deliberate path downward that left a trail of fire in its wake. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped her lips as his palm came to rest, warm and possessive, agat the frantic rhythm of her heart. The air grew thick with the scent of their mingled sweat and the faint, sweet perfume of her skin, a heady aroma that made the room feel impossibly small. He lowered his head, his lips finding the sensitive hollow of her throat, and she arched into the contact, a silent plea for more. Every nerve ending seemed to awaken under his touch, a symphony of sensation building low in her belly with a delicious, aching pressure. The world narrowed to the space between their bodies, to the whisper of fabric as it slid away and the slick heat of skin meeting skin. His mouth was a brand, moving with agonizing slowness, tasting, teasing, promising pleasures yet to come. A low groan rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated want that vibrated through her very core. She could feel the tension coiling within him, a mirror of her own desperate need, as they teetered on the precipice of a shared, breathless release.
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