Evilangel
Maddy May, Seth Gamble Pic(s)
The room was bathed in the warm, low light of a single lamp, casting long shadows that danced across her skin as she moved with a liquid grace. Her mouth was a study in soft, wet heat, a velvet pressure that drew a low groan from deep within his chest as she took him fully, her tongue tracing a path of exquisite friction along his length. One hand tangled in her hair, not to guide but simply to feel the silken strands agat his fingers, a grounding counterpoint to the rising tide of sensation. The air was thick with the scent of their bodies, a primal musk mingled with the faint, sweet fragrance of the oil she had warmed in her palms. That same oil now gleamed on her skin, catching the light in iridescent streaks as she shifted her position, her free hand sliding down to caress the tight, forbidden knot of muscle at his base. A single, slick finger pressed agat him, a question asked with gentle, istent pressure, and he arched his back in wordless consent, surrendering to the dual invasion. The feeling was one of overwhelming fullness, a stretching, burning pleasure that radiated outwards, making every nerve ending sing with electric life. Her rhythm was a perfect, hypnotic syncopation, the wet, sucking sounds from her lips harmonizing with the soft, yielding pressure building from behind. He was lost in the sensation, a vessel being filled to the brim, teetering on the precipice of a shattering release that promised to unravel him completely.
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