There’s something about her neck—how it glistens in low light, the scent of her skin mixing with the warmth of breath. Every night, it was the first place my lips wandered, tasting the softness, the salt of her skin, the pulse that whispered secrets only I could hear.
Her neck wasn’t just a curve between her shoulder and jaw—it was a place of surrender, of quiet storms. The way she tilted her head when I kissed there, how her breath caught when my fingers explored upward, slow and reverent.
Just below her neck, she wore a small butterfly inked into her skin—delicate, quiet, yet impossibly bold. It rested between her shoulder blades like a secret only I was meant to discover. I’d trace it with my lips, slowly, reverently, letting the tip of my tongue follow the shape, as if unlocking something sacred.
My hands would rise over the curves I knew by heart, until they wrapped the softness of her breasts—fingertips grazing until they found her nipples, already hardened with need. The way she feel, how her breath hitched as I circled them gently—it wasn’t just desire. It was connection. It was worship.
There were nights I pressed my d*** closer, pressed against her thigh, my hunger laid bare—but still, it was her neck I returned to. That sacred place where she melted, where her pulse danced beneath my tongue. I could stay there forever, lost in her sighs, her skin, her scent.
Her neck wasn’t just a curve between her shoulder and jaw—it was a place of surrender, of quiet storms. The way she tilted her head when I kissed there, how her breath caught when my fingers explored upward, slow and reverent.
Just below her neck, she wore a small butterfly inked into her skin—delicate, quiet, yet impossibly bold. It rested between her shoulder blades like a secret only I was meant to discover. I’d trace it with my lips, slowly, reverently, letting the tip of my tongue follow the shape, as if unlocking something sacred.
My hands would rise over the curves I knew by heart, until they wrapped the softness of her breasts—fingertips grazing until they found her nipples, already hardened with need. The way she feel, how her breath hitched as I circled them gently—it wasn’t just desire. It was connection. It was worship.
There were nights I pressed my d*** closer, pressed against her thigh, my hunger laid bare—but still, it was her neck I returned to. That sacred place where she melted, where her pulse danced beneath my tongue. I could stay there forever, lost in her sighs, her skin, her scent.
