Wicked
Kenna James, Seth Gamble Pic(s)
The air itself felt heavy, a thick velvet curtain of silence broken only by the frantic rhythm of two hearts beating in the dark. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path along the curve of her spine, a whisper of contact that sent shivers cascading across her skin like a sudden chill. The only light, a single crimson glow from a shaded lamp, painted their entwined forms in shades of wine and shadow, deepening the hollow of her throat and the hard plane of his chest. She could taste the salt on his skin, a primal flavor that spoke of longing and the faint, smoky scent of sandalwood that clung to him. Every breath she drew was filled with him, a dizzying intoxication as his mouth found the sensitive pulse point just below her ear, a silent promise that made her knees weaken. The world outside this sanctuary ceased to exist, the only reality the press of his body agat hers, a solid, demanding warmth that promised both surrender and conquest. A low murmur escaped his lips, not quite a word but a vibration that resonated deep within her core, awakening a desperate, aching need. Her own hands moved of their own volition, tangling in the dark silk of his hair, pulling him closer as if to erase any last sliver of space between them. In that suspended moment, time unraveled, and every touch, every sigh, became an indelible mark upon their souls, a ghost of a feeling that would linger long after the dawn.
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