Addicted2Girls
Holly Wellin, Elena Rivera Pic(s)
The moon cast silver stripes across their entwined bodies, a shifting pattern of light and shadow that danced with their movements. His hands, calloused and knowing, traced the elegant curve of her spine, a slow, deliberate pilgrimage from the delicate nape of her neck to the subtle swell at its base. A low, resonant hum vibrated in his chest, a sound of pure contentment that she felt deep within her own bones as he nuzzled into the fragrant hollow of her throat. Her fingers tangled in the dark silk of his hair, applying gentle pressure to draw him closer, her own answering sigh a soft exhalation agat his temple. The air itself grew thick and warm, saturated with the scent of their skin, a heady mixture of night-blooming jasmine and pure, musky heat. Every point of contact was a small, electric fire, from the press of his thigh between hers to the brush of his lips along her collarbone, a trail of exquisite sensation. She arched into him, a fluid, unspoken offering, her body speaking a language of want more eloquent than any words could form. The world outside their intimate cocoon dissolved into irrelevance, leaving only the shared rhythm of their breath and the building, palpable tension coiling in the space between them. It was a silent, potent communion, a gathering storm of pleasure where every touch promised a deeper, more consuming revelation.
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