Alex’s hand, trembling slightly, came up to rest on her hip, then slid up the curve of her ribs, just below the edge of the tank top. The fabric was impossibly soft. The skin beneath was softer.
Tanya’s downtown loft, late afternoon. Golden light slants through the large industrial windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
Tanya Virago, a confident and charismatic artist known for her edgy photography. Her partner, Alex.
Tanya caught the reflection in the dark glass of a framed print across the room. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips. She didn't lower her arms. Instead, she twisted slightly, as if examining a phantom light source, giving Alex an unobstructed profile. LoveHerBoobs 24 09 03 Tanya Virago Say Wow Out ...
Alex’s breath hitched.
“Wow,” Alex breathed, the word barely audible.
“Come here,” Tanya said, her voice a low hum. Alex’s hand, trembling slightly, came up to rest
“There it is,” she purred, her forehead resting against Alex’s. “My favorite sound.”
The light from the window poured over her. It traced the swell, the shadow beneath, the faint, lacy edge of the bralette she wore—something black and delicate that offered more mystery than support. She looked like a Caravaggio painting come to brutal, gorgeous life.
Say Wow Out Loud
Alex stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. “Tanya…”
“Say it,” she commanded softly, finally lowering one arm to brush the back of her fingers against Alex’s cheek. “I want to hear you say it out loud.”
Tanya Virago was not a woman who did anything quietly. Her laugh was a cascade of bells, her opinions sharp as her favorite lens, and her presence filled a room like the scent of cedar and lightning. Today, however, she was unnervingly still. Tanya’s downtown loft, late afternoon
The canvas, the light, the cold coffee—all of it dissolved. There was only the soft, sharp intake of Alex’s next breath, and the slow, deliberate way Tanya guided one of Alex’s hands to the hem of her tank top, inviting a deeper exploration. The story was no longer about the art on the wall. It was about the art of her body, and the worship it so richly demanded.