Evilangel
Lucky Kay, Jack Vegas Pic(s)
The air in the room grew thick with the scent of warm skin and quiet submission, a palpable tension that hummed between them like a low electrical current. His gaze, heavy with unspoken command, traced the delicate curve of her spine as she knelt before him, the supple leather of the floor cool agat her bare knees. A single bead of sweat traced a slow, deliberate path down the hollow of her throat, catching the low light as it disappeared into the shadowed valley of her breasts. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic whisper of her breathing, a fragile counterpoint to the absolute stillness he demanded. She felt the weight of his expectation settle over her shoulders, a silken, invisible cloak that both confined and exalted her. His fingers, when they finally touched her, were not rough but infinitely patient, mapping the delicate architecture of her collarbone with a possessiveness that made her shiver. A soft, yielding sigh escaped her lips as his thumb brushed the frantic pulse at the base of her neck, a silent surrender to the authority he wore as naturally as his own skin. The world outside the dimly lit chamber ceased to exist, all of her awareness narrowing to the point of contact where his skin met hers, a burning brand of ownership. In that suspended moment, she was nothing but a vessel for his will, her entire being focused on the profound, aching pleasure of perfect compliance.
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