21Sextury
Bonnie Dolce, Zlata Shine Pic(s)
The first hint of dawn was not light but a scent, a warm, sun-ripened fragrance that wove through the cool morning air and settled upon my sleeping senses. A soft weight pressed agat my back, a curve of living warmth that molded itself perfectly to the shape of my body. I stirred, not to sight, but to touch, feeling the smooth, yielding texture of skin like the finest velvet under my slowly awakening fingertips. A low, contented sigh whispered near my ear, its breath a humid promise that ghosted across my neck and sent a delicate shiver along my spine. My hand drifted of its own accord, palm flattening agat a gently rounded hip, discovering the delicious contrast of its firm core beneath that incredible softness. The faint, golden light now seeping beneath the eyelids revealed the blush of a rounded shoulder, the elegant line of a throat offered in vulnerable slumber. I dipped my head, letting my lips brush that exposed column, tasting the lingering salt of night and the essential, sweet musk of the body beside me. Every movement was languid, a slow, syrupy exploration as my leg slid between two others, entangling us in a shared heat that began to pulse with a slow, gathering rhythm. In that hushed, private world, the boundaries of our selves dissolved, leaving only the palpable, rising tide of sensation.
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