¬ Fashire
Her wrist.
The delicate veins beneath her skin pulsed, calling to me with a feverish rush that made my mouth water.
The flutter of her pulse danced in her throat just beneath the jaw. So fragile. So easy to tear open.
My hand found her waist.
Her bare skin was warm under my palm. Soft. Softer than anything I had touched in years. I wanted to press harder, to feel the give of her flesh beneath my fingers, to leave marks that would remind her I had been here.
She smelled like…
I couldn't name it, but it was beyond sublime. Her scent drowned everything else out. It filled my lungs, my chest, my skull until there was nothing left but her.
Her hair spread across something dark. My pillows. My sheets. She was in my bed.
The white strands caught the low light, spilling across the dark fabric like moonlight on water.
I wanted to bury my face in it. I wanted to wrap it around my fist and pull.
