21Sextury
Liza Shay, Mary Frost Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to taste of honey and dark, melted chocolate, a thick and fragrant promise that clung to the lips and the back of the throat. He watched as a single, glistening drop of amber syrup traced a slow, deliberate path down the curve of a ripe strawberry, catching the low light like a liquid jewel before it fell onto the pale, waiting skin of her collarbone. A soft, appreciative sound escaped him, a vibration felt more than heard, as he leaned in to follow that tantalizing trail with the heat of his mouth. The sharp, sweet tang of the fruit burst agat his tongue, an electric counterpoint to the smooth, yielding warmth of her flesh beneath his lips. His fingers, dusted with a fine powder of confectioner’s sugar, found the delicate arch of her waist, their touch leaving faint, ghostly prints upon her body as they began a slow, exploring journey. Each breath she took was a whisper of vanilla and something uniquely, intoxicatingly her, a scent that drew him deeper into this private, decadent world they were creating. The gentle pressure of his hand guided her back agat the cool, smooth surface of the kitchen counter, the contrast of temperatures sending a visible shiver through her form. He continued his languid feast, tasting not just the dessert but the salt of her skin and the quickening pulse at the base of her neck, each sensation more rich and complex than the last. This was a deliberate, unhurried indulgence, a symphony of flavor and touch where every sense was awakened and utterly consumed by the moment.
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