Dad Crush
Liz Jordan, Mike Mancini Pic(s)
Her sun-kissed skin, warm from the afternoon light, seemed to glow with a quiet invitation as she knelt before him, her gaze a slow, deliberate study of his form. The air thickened with unspoken longing, each breath she took drawing the scent of salt and desire closer to her parted lips. He watched the delicate curve of her spine as she leaned in, her small, firm breasts pressing against the fabric of her tank top with every subtle movement. A single, trembling fingertip traced the outline of his hip, a featherlight promise that sent a shiver of heat cascading through his veins. Her mouth, soft and inquisitive, found the hollow of his throat, tasting the pulse that beat there like a wild, captive bird. With a reverence that bordered on worship, she let her lips wander lower, her tongue painting a trail of damp fire across his chest. The world narrowed to the sound of her quiet, desperate moan as her hands cradled his thighs, a possessive, tender grip that anchored him to the moment. When her lips finally reached their destination, the first warm, wet contact of her tongue was a shock of pure, electric pleasure that made his knees buckle with raw, aching need. Her fingers, slick with her own eager moisture, found the sensitive nub of her own heat, teasing and circling as she surrendered to the rhythm she created for him. A final, shuddering sigh escaped her as she pulled away, her lips swollen and glistening, her eyes heavy-lidded with a satisfaction that promised this was only the beginning of their entwined, feverish dance.
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