Addicted2Girls
Syren De Mer, Ava Madison Pic(s)
The heavy velvet drapes were drawn agat the encroaching twilight, but a single sliver of amber streetlight cut across the room, illuminating the slow, deliberate dance of dust motes above the rumpled silk sheets. His calloused palm, smelling faintly of bourbon and cedar, slid up the pale curve of her thigh, a possessive heat that made her breath catch in a silent, willing surrender. She arched her back, a soft moan escaping her lips as his mouth found the frantic pulse at the base of her throat, his stubble a delicious friction agat her delicate skin. The scent of their mingled sweat, musky and intimate, rose from the damp linen, a testament to the stolen hour they were greedily consuming. His whispered promises, raw and husky, were not of a future but of this present moment, each word a brand upon her feverish flesh. Her fingers tangled in the dark hair at his nape, pulling him closer, wanting to dissolve the final, infinitesimal space between their bodies. The world outside, with its obligations and silent, watching house, ceased to exist, replaced by the symphony of their ragged breathing and the creak of the old mahogany bedstead. Every touch was a deliberate exploration, a rediscovery of a landscape made new by the sheer, illicit thrill of their union. In that hushed, golden space, there was only the language of skin and the profound, unspoken understanding that this secret was the most vital part of them both.
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