Evilangel
Kianna Dior, Brickzilla Pic(s)
Her breath hitched as her gaze fell upon the magnificent, intimidating length before her, a sight that both thrilled and humbled her. A slow, deliberate smile curved her lips as she leaned forward, her movements a silent promise of devotion. The air grew thick with anticipation, charged with the scent of her perfume and the raw, masculine energy emanating from him. Her fingers, delicate yet sure, traced a path along the veined, heated flesh, feeling the powerful thrum of life beneath the smooth skin. She lowered her head, her dark hair cascading like a curtain as she pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the broad, flushed tip, tasting the faint, salty evidence of his arousal. A low groan rumbled from his chest, a sound of pure need that vibrated through her entire being, spurring her on. She took him deeper, her tongue swirling in a practiced, worshipful rhythm that celebrated every inch of his girth. Her world narrowed to this singular act, to the feeling of him stretching her lips and the heavy weight resting on her tongue, a sacred burden she cherished. Lost in the rhythm of her adoration, she became a vessel of pure sensation, giving and receiving pleasure in a timeless, primal dance.
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