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Ebony Goddess Mystique, Anna Claire Clouds Pic(s)
The pale one arched her back, a soft gasp escaping her lips as the other’s mouth traced a path of fire down the elegant column of her throat. Dark hands, smooth as polished river stones, slid possessively along the trembling curve of her hip, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Fingertips, dark agat the moonlit expanse of a pale stomach, explored the delicate ridges of her ribs with an artist’s reverence. A curtain of scented obsidian hair fell around them, creating a private world where the only sound was their mingled, ragged breathing. The fairer woman tangled her hands in that silken darkness, her own touch a desperate, answering plea agat the warm, firm flesh of her lover’s shoulders. Every point of contact was a small, exquisite shock, a silent language of desire spoken through shifting pressure and yielding softness. The scent of their arousal hung heavy in the air, a potent mixture of warm skin and the faint, floral hint of perfume long since rubbed away. Hips moved in a slow, primal rhythm, a dance of mounting pressure that promised a shattering release. In that suspended moment, two bodies became a single, breathing entity, lost in the ancient, wordless conversation of touch and sensation.
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