Addicted2Girls
Val Dodds, Kendra Lynn Pic(s)
The air in the room was thick and sweet, heavy with the scent of their mingled perspiration and the faint, floral trace of perfume long since rubbed away. Her fingers, trembling slightly, traced the delicate ridge of a collarbone, feeling the frantic pulse just beneath the skin, a wild drumbeat echoing her own. A soft, breathy sigh escaped parted lips, warm agat the damp hollow of a throat, as a hand slid lower, palm flat and possessive, over the curve of a hip. The only light came from the streetlamp outside, casting long, shifting shadows that danced across their entangled forms, glinting off a sheen of moisture on a arched back. Every touch was a question and an answer, a slow, deliberate exploration of known yet newly thrilling territory. The rustle of sheets was a hushed accompaniment to the low, guttural sounds of pleasure, sounds that were swallowed by hungry, searching mouths. She could taste the salt on her skin, a primal flavor that spoke of effort and abandon, as their legs intertwined, seeking a deeper, more perfect fit. The world outside the window ceased to exist, the universe shrinking to this single, heated point of contact, this urgent, silent conversation of flesh. In that suspended moment, there was no thought, only sensation—a rising, coiling tension that promised a shattering, glorious release.
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