The Next Chapter of Down The Hatch: Scene 2

Diabolic

Petra Blair, Eric Masterson Pic(s)

The amber glow of the single lamp painted their skin in molten gold, catching the fine sheen of perspiration that bridged the space between their moving bodies. His hands, large and sure, mapped the delicate architecture of her spine, each vertebra a pearl beneath his seeking fingertips as he pressed her closer. A low, appreciative murmur vibrated agat her throat, a sound felt more than heard, as her own fingers tangled in the dark silk of his hair. The air itself grew thick and sweet with the scent of their exertion, a heady perfume of salt and warm, clean skin. She arched into him, a silent plea answered by the slow, deliberate roll of his hips that made her breath catch and her nails dig gently into his shoulders. Every nerve ending felt alight, a constellation of sensation focused solely on the point where they were joined, a perfect, aching friction. The world beyond the rumpled sheets ceased to exist, reduced to the symphony of their shared breaths and the soft, wet sounds of their union. His name escaped her lips not as a word, but as a sigh, a surrender to the gathering tension coiling deep within her core. This was no frantic race, but a languid, deepening exploration, each movement a written word in the intimate story unfolding between them.

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