Filthykings
Mila Mars, Jay Bangher Pic(s)
The heavy door clicked shut, muffling the distant clang of weights, enclosing them in a humid, private world of steam and sharp, clean scents. His hands, still warm from exertion, found the curve of her lower back, pressing her gently agat the cool, slick tiles as his mouth descended upon hers with a hunger that stole her breath. The taste of him was a mix of salt and pure, unadulterated desire, a flavor that made her head spin and her knees weaken. Her fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer, needing to erase every millimeter of space between their straining bodies. A low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating through her as his hands slid lower, gripping her thighs to lift her, her own legs wrapping tinctively around his waist. The hard ridge of him pressed istently agat her core, a promise of the friction and heat to come, making her arch agat the wall with a soft, pleading cry. His lips trailed a blazing path down her neck, each open-mouthed kiss a brand that seared her skin and sent shivers cascading down her spine. The air thickened with their ragged breaths and the soft, wet sounds of their frantic coupling, a primal rhythm that echoed in the tiled room. In that suspended moment, there was nothing but the feel of his powerful body moving agat hers, the shared, desperate climb towards a shattering, mutual release.
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