Filthykings
Kristina Rose, Joshua Lewis Pic(s)
The familiar scent of him, a blend of clean linen and the faint, musky sweetness of his skin, enveloped her the moment the door clicked shut, a silent promise of the reunion to come. Her fingers, trembling with a delicious anticipation, found the cool metal of his belt buckle, the simple act of unbuckling it feeling like the unlocking of a long-sealed treasure. His hands answered by sliding beneath her blouse, his palms warm and possessive agat the small of her back, pulling her flush agat the hard, welcoming plane of his body. A low groan rumbled in his chest, a vibration she felt deep within her own as his mouth found the sensitive curve of her neck, his lips and tongue tracing a path of fire that made her knees weaken. The soft cotton of his shirt yielded to her seeking hands, revealing the heated skin beneath, and she buried her face agat his chest, breathing him in like a forgotten prayer. He guided her slowly backward until the solid weight of the wall met her shoulders, his hips pressing into hers with an istent rhythm that spoke of a deep, primal hunger. The world outside, with all its noise and demands, dissolved into a distant hum, leaving only the symphony of their ragged breaths and the rustle of clothing being slowly, deliberately discarded. His name escaped her lips in a whispered sigh as his thumb brushed the peak of her breast through the delicate fabric of her bra, sending a jolt of pure electricity straight to her core. In that suspended moment, surrounded by the essence of him and the quiet of their sanctuary, every mile of separation vanished, replaced by the profound, aching rightness of being exactly where she belonged.
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