HNT: Thirty-six

In the flicker of an eye, she appears before him in the low lit entrance, dressed in the deepest midnight black, as if conjured from the innermost recesses of his base imaginings. Guided by the seductively guttural moan of the jazz trumpet, she languidly slinks to the wall, pressing her petite frame into the stucco, her long fingers beginning the slow release, teasing open each clasp to reveal the satin, the lace and the firm, ready flesh to his transfixed gaze.

Moving toward her with an ease that betrays nothing of the urgency rising up inside him, he curls his hand around the growing swell straining the tailored suiting, relishing the fiery passion his intensely masculine arousal ignites, savouring his powerful hold over this rapacious woman.

Yet, as her look once again joins his, as the raspy breath escapes her glistening mouth, as she sensually strokes the swollen slickness down below, as she opens herself up for him, to him, his possession dissolves in an instant, her dangerous shadows unwittingly drawing him in, her unbound desire wordlessly calling him into her velvet web.

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)