đ đđ˘đĽđ˘đđĄ
My breath caught, pulse spiking. Still, my fingers obeyed, caressing the raised ink, feeling it hum beneath my touch like something alive.
Vladimir's jaw clenched so hard I swore I heard bone grind, his throat corded as his head tipped back. The sight rooted me where I sat. Those pale planes of muscle shifted under my palm with every controlled breath he dragged into his lungs, and still he didn't stop me.
The air thickened, heavy, charged, every stroke of my fingers magnified by his reaction. The silence was no longer emptyâit was taut, trembling, a bowstring ready to snap.
I dared another pass, slower this time, tracing the spiral as though the lines themselves commanded me. His breath fractured. A groan escaped him, rough, guttural, his body bowing slightly into my touch before he forced it still again.