"Don't move," she says, but her voice isn't a command. It's a velvet rope. Stay here. It's nicer inside the club.
I can't answer. My throat is dry.
Bella Rose smiles in the darkness. The only thing visible is the soft glow of her watchful, amused eyes.
The ceiling is a blur of exposed wooden beams, but my eyes can’t reach them. They snag on the curve of her jaw instead. The light from the tall factory windows hits the side of her face, turning her skin into something edible—warm honey over porcelain.
Now, the BangPOV becomes intimate. The camera—my eyes—lose focus for a second as she enters my personal atmosphere. Her hair, a cascade of dark cherry and honey-brown, falls forward, creating a curtain. We are in our own tent now. A world of two.
She reaches out. The tip of the dry paintbrush trails from my sternum up to my chin. It tickles. It burns.
"Don't move," she says, but her voice isn't a command. It's a velvet rope. Stay here. It's nicer inside the club.
I can't answer. My throat is dry.
Bella Rose smiles in the darkness. The only thing visible is the soft glow of her watchful, amused eyes.
The ceiling is a blur of exposed wooden beams, but my eyes can’t reach them. They snag on the curve of her jaw instead. The light from the tall factory windows hits the side of her face, turning her skin into something edible—warm honey over porcelain.
Now, the BangPOV becomes intimate. The camera—my eyes—lose focus for a second as she enters my personal atmosphere. Her hair, a cascade of dark cherry and honey-brown, falls forward, creating a curtain. We are in our own tent now. A world of two.
She reaches out. The tip of the dry paintbrush trails from my sternum up to my chin. It tickles. It burns.