XENIA
Brawny hands rested on my waist, his grip soft yet firm, sending chills pulsing through me.
I held my breath as Westlife’s ‘My love’—one of my favorite songs mom sang to put me to bed—filled the night air, something about the way he hummed lowly to the lyrics setting my heart ablaze in a way I didn’t think was possible. I worked my hands up his arms, slowly tracing his biceps out of intrigue until I threw my hands around his neck.
The vein in his neck seemed to be rhythmically throbbing against my wrist, proving that his heart was probably racing as much as mine as we swung along to the beat of the music.
One of his huge palms traveled upwards end clasped my waist possessively and it felt like shooting stars had gone off in my head. The intimacy and intensity of his touch reminde
