Roccosiffredi
Sara Bell, Kristof Cale Pic(s)
The scent of espresso and expensive perfume hung thick in the air, a heady mixture that clung to the silk of her blouse as she leaned over the vast mahogany desk. His gaze was a tangible weight, tracing the deliberate arch of her back, a silent command she understood perfectly. Her fingers, tipped with crimson polish, slowly worked the tiny pearl buttons free, each one giving way with a soft, sighing release. The fabric whispered apart to reveal the smooth, sun-warmed skin of her shoulders, a landscape of soft curves and delicate hollows. A knowing smile played upon her lips as she felt his attention sharpen, focusing on the way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. She let the silk slip further, the material catching for a breathless moment on the swell of her breasts before pooling at her elbows. The only sound was the faint rustle of clothing and the sharp intake of his breath from the leather chair. Her movements were a languid, practiced dance of revelation, each shift of her body a new sentence in this unspoken dialogue of desire. This was a transaction far more intimate than any business deal, a currency of shared glances and anticipatory silence that filled the opulent room.
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