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Michelle Lay, Sindy Lange Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the scent of jasmine and the soft, clean fragrance of her skin as she drew nearer. Her fingers, cool and deliberate, traced a path from my temple down to the line of my jaw, a touch so light it was almost a memory yet it sent a shiver straight to my core. I met her gaze, finding in her dark eyes a silent, smoldering question that my own body answered with a quickening pulse. When her lips finally met mine, it was not a tentative exploration but a deep, claiming kiss that tasted of wine and unspoken promises. My hands found the curve of her waist, pulling her closer until I could feel the frantic rhythm of her heart beating in time with my own. She murmured my name agat my throat, a breathless sound that unraveled the last of my restraint, her mouth leaving a trail of fire along my collarbone. The silk of her blouse whispered away under my seeking hands, revealing skin that was impossibly soft and warm to the touch. I lowered my head, my lips finding the peak of her breast, and her sharp, gasping intake of breath was the most exquisite music I had ever heard. In that suspended moment, the world fell away, leaving only the map of her body beneath my hands and the shared, rising tide of our desire.
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