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Autumn Moon, Heather Silk Pic(s)
The room held its breath, the only sound the soft rustle of silk as her fingers traced a path from a trembling shoulder blade down the elegant curve of a spine. A sharp intake of air was the only reply, a whispered testament to the electricity arcing between their bodies. She leaned in, her lips finding not the mouth, but the frantic pulse beating at the base of a slender throat, tasting the salt of anticipation on her skin. Her other hand slid around a narrow waist, pulling their forms together until the heat of one seemed to melt into the other. A low moan escaped, vibrating agat her own chest as she explored the soft weight of a breast, her thumb circling a peak that hardened tantly to her touch. The scent of jasmine and warm skin filled her senses, an intoxicating perfume that promised utter abandon. Every movement was a question, answered by the yielding arch of a back, the desperate clutch of fingers in her hair. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, a universe contained within the space of a sigh and the slow, deliberate journey of a hand slipping beneath the waistband of delicate lace. In the heavy silence, a name was breathed like a prayer, sealing a pact of shared desire that needed no further words.
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