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Febby Twigs, Rion King Pic(s)
The air between them crackled with a tension that had simmered for years, finally boiling over in the hushed stillness of the room. His gaze, dark and intent, traced the delicate line of her jaw before dropping to the frantic pulse beating at the base of her throat. A single calloused finger followed the path his eyes had taken, a whisper of touch that drew a sharp, shuddering breath from her parted lips. She arched into his palm as it settled agat the small of her back, the heat of his skin searing through the thin fabric of her dress. His other hand tangled in the silk of her hair, tilting her face up to meet his in a kiss that was less an exploration and more a claiming, deep and languid and tasting of stolen wine. The world narrowed to the slide of fabric as he eased a strap from her shoulder, his mouth following the revealed skin with a trail of fire that made her knees weaken. A low groan rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated need that vibrated agat her own body as he lowered her onto the soft cushions. Every nerve ending sang with the weight of him, the hard planes of his body a perfect contrast to her yielding softness, a puzzle finally clicking into place. In that suspended moment, there were no more words, only the shared, breathless language of touch and the overwhelming rightness of their collision.
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