Zerotolerancefilms
Zeina Heart, David Perry Pic(s)
The air thickened with the scent of warm skin and whispered confessions, a heavy perfume that clung to the back of the throat with each deliberate breath. His knuckles, rough and knowing, grazed the delicate arch of her spine, a slow, possessive descent that mapped the subtle tremors awakening beneath her skin. A low murmur, more vibration than word, rumbled from his chest and seeped into her very bones, a primal language that bypassed thought and spoke directly to the liquid heat pooling low in her belly. Her head fell back in a silent surrender, exposing the pale, frantic pulse at the base of her throat, an offering he acknowledged with the heat of his gaze alone. The world narrowed to the space between their bodies, to the slick slide of her sweat agat his, a friction that promised both ruin and rapture. His other hand settled firmly on the curve of her hip, anchoring her, guiding her into the ancient, rhythmic cadence his body began to dictate. Every nerve ending sang a desperate, keening note, straining towards the precipice he so masterfully held just beyond reach. The only light came from the moon, casting long, tangled shadows that danced across the wall, a silent witness to this intimate conquest. And in that suspended moment, as a shuddering breath escaped her parted lips, the question of dominance was answered not with words, but with the crushing, complete certainty of his control.
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