Evilangel
Zara DuRose Pic(s)
The first time their eyes met across the crowded room, a current of pure, unspoken anticipation arced between them, a silent promise that tightened the air in her lungs. His gaze was a physical touch, a slow, deliberate caress that started at the hollow of her throat and traveled downward, warming her skin beneath the silk of her dress. Every movement he made toward her was a study in controlled intent, the space between them shrinking with a palpable gravity that pulled at her very core. When his fingers finally brushed agat the small of her back, the contact was electric, a spark that ignited a slow, smoldering fire deep within her belly. His lips found the sensitive curve of her neck, and the whisper of his breath was a prelude to the hungry possession of his mouth on hers, tasting of dark promise and urgency. Clothes fell away like forgotten thoughts, revealing landscapes of heated skin that trembled under the exploration of eager hands and seeking tongues. The world narrowed to the weight of his body pressing her into the softness of the sheets, a delicious anchor as he filled her completely, a perfect, stretching fullness that made her cry out. Their rhythm was a primal language, a building crescendo of friction and sweat, of gasped pleas and guttural groans that echoed in the dim light. Finally, the coiled tension shattered into a wave of blinding release, leaving them breathless and tangled, a single, glistening entity in the quiet aftermath of their shared journey.
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