Pen & Passion
Each brush of his fingers, each kiss against my skin, felt like worship, like he was reminding me I was beautiful even when I doubted myself.
By the time I was bare beneath him, my nerves had dulled into something warmer, steadier.
Desire. Trust.
He paused, his forehead resting against mine, his breathing uneven. “You’re sure?”
I nodded, cupping his face with trembling hands. “Yes. I want this… with you.”
The sound he made was half relief, half hunger. He kissed me then with a passion that stole the ground from under me, his body pressing to mine, his hands exploring with reverence and need.
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