Category: Erotic Couplings | Words: 701
The elevator shuddered to a halt. Not quite between floors, more like suspended in a liminal space, the lights flickering with a sickly yellow glow. The air, thick with the scent of jasmine and something else, something musky and undeniably male, felt charged.
Elena pressed her back against the mirrored wall, heart hammering a frantic tattoo against her ribs.
“Great,” she muttered, her voice tight. “Just great.”
Marco, leaning against the opposite wall, chuckled. A low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her, making her want to both lean closer and run for the stairs. He was leaning on the wall casually, a smirk playing on his lips that sent a shiver down her spine. "Stuck with me for a bit longer, darling?"
She rolled her eyes, trying to appear nonchalant. It was hard, though. She’d known Marco for years, been his muse, his inspiration. And yes, his lover, on occasion. But always, in a haze of late-night studio sessions and whispered promises. Never like this, trapped in a metal box that smelled of him and fear.
"Not exactly what I had planned for my evening," she said, her voice a strained whisper.
"Life rarely goes according to plan, Bella," he said, stepping closer. His scent was intoxicating - sandalwood and something darker, primal. He was a masterpiece, sculpted from dark wood and shadow, and she was caught in his gaze, drowning in his intensity.
The elevator lurched, throwing them off balance. They stumbled closer, their bodies pressed together, the heat of his touch searing through her dress. His hand snaked around her waist, pulling her against him. Her breath hitched. She was so close to him she could feel the heat radiating from his body, the rough stubble against her skin.
"This might be better than planned," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper against her ear. He tilted her chin up, his thumb stroking her jaw, sending shivers down her spine. His eyes, dark and intense, bored into hers, hungry.
He tasted her then, her lips soft and yielding under his touch. The kiss was slow, deliberate, a claim and a promise all in one. His tongue traced the line of her lips, asking for entry, demanding. She met his hunger with her own, her hand finding its way to his chest, her fingers tangled in the dark fabric of his shirt.
His hands moved, tracing the curve of her back, slipping over her hips, pulling her closer. She gasped as his fingers brushed against the skin of her thigh, a tremor of desire running through her.
He pushed her back against the cool metal wall, his body pressing against hers, the heat of him consuming her. His hands, rough and insistent, tore at the buttons of her dress, sending a wave of goosebumps over her skin. She felt his breath against her neck, hot and ragged, a promise of something wild and untamed.
He groaned as he pulled her dress down, exposing the curve of her body, the smooth skin of her thighs. His fingers trailed down her stomach, sending shivers down her spine.
He was on top of her, his weight heavy against her, his kisses fierce and demanding. Her hands moved in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. The elevator lurched again, throwing them off balance, but the impact only fueled their passion. He tasted her, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth, his hands moving with a urgency that mirrored her own. He tore at her bra, his fingers finding the soft peaks of her breasts, squeezing them, teasing them.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding into her mouth, exploring every corner of her being. His hands were everywhere, his fingers digging into her flesh, claiming her. She arched her back, her hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer. She moaned, her body responding to his touch, her desires flaring.
The elevator doors slid open with a hiss, flooding the small space with a stark white light. He didn't move. He just looked at her, his eyes dark and hungry, his lips still parted from her kiss.
“Well, Bella,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Where are we going next?”
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