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Tristyn Kennedy, Ashlynn Leigh Pic(s)
The room held its breath, a sacred silence broken only by the soft, wet sounds of a deepening kiss. Her fingers, trembling with a mixture of trepidation and raw need, traced the delicate ridge of a collarbone, feeling the frantic pulse just beneath the skin. A sigh escaped, a warm exhalation that ghosted across a flushed cheek as her other hand slid lower, palm flattening agat the small of a back to press their bodies into a seamless curve. The scent of arousal, musky and sweet like night-blooming jasmine, filled the air between them, an intoxicating perfume that made heads spin. Eyes, dark with desire, locked in a silent conversation of pure hunger, reflecting the flickering candlelight and the unspoken promises within. A tongue traced the shell of an ear, then ventured lower, following the elegant column of a throat to find the frantic beat of a heart at its base. The first touch there, a gentle suckle, elicited a sharp gasp and the arching of a spine, a silent plea for more, for everything. Clothing became an unbearable barrier, whispered away in a rustle of fabric to reveal skin that shimmered like pearl in the dim light, begging to be worshiped. Every touch was a question, every sigh an answer, building a rhythm as ancient as the tide, pulling them both under into a sea of pure, unadulterated sensation.
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