The cool silk of the sheets was a sharp contrast to the feverish heat of our skin. I leaned down, burying my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of her perfume mixed with the salt of her skin. I moved her arms up, pinning her wrists gently but firmly above her head, locking my fingers through hers. It was a gesture of total surrender and total protection.
I slid between her thighs, my weight settling over her, pressing my chest flush against her full, heavy breasts. I could feel her nipples—hard and sensitive—teasing my skin with every breath she took. The friction was electric, a slow-burning fuse that made the air in the penthouse feel thick and heavy.
Then, I began to grind.
