Filthykings
Addie Andrews, Tyler Steel Pic(s)
The golden afternoon light streamed through the window, catching the dust motes dancing in the air like tiny, suspended stars as she leaned back agat the cool wooden dresser. A soft sigh escaped her lips, parting them just enough to taste the honeyed warmth of the room, her heart beginning a frantic, rhythmic drum agat her ribs. His calloused hands, surprisingly gentle, traced a path from the delicate curve of her jaw down the column of her throat, leaving a trail of fire in their wake that made her shiver. She could feel the solid strength of him pressed agat her, a promise of the intimacy to come, as his scent of clean cotton and open fields filled her senses. Every brush of his skin agat hers was a new verse in a silent, ardent poem, building a tension that coiled deep within her core, hot and urgent. When he finally joined with her, it was a slow, deliberate claiming that stole her breath and made the world narrow to this single, shimmering point of connection. The crescendo built, wave upon wave of sensation crashing over her until she was trembling, clinging to him as her anchor in the storm of pure feeling. In the profound, breathless stillness that followed, a deep, liquid warmth flooded her innermost self, a sacred and secret completion that left her utterly spent. A single, blissful tear traced a path down her flushed cheek as she rested her forehead agat his, the last tremors of pleasure still echoing through her like a distant, perfect chord.
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