Evilangel
Holly Hendrix, Ramon Nomar Pic(s)
The room seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the soft rustle of silk agat skin as she arched her back, a delicate curve agat the dim light. His hands, large and knowing, traced the gentle slope of her spine, each deliberate touch a promise of the intimacy to come. A single bead of sweat traced a path between her shoulder blades, a testament to the building heat that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature. He applied a slick, cool pressure at her most private entrance, a sensation that made her gasp and push back tinctively, seeking more. The initial stretch was a slow, burning fullness that blossomed into a deep, thrilling ache, her body yielding with a profound and willing surrender. Every slight movement sent ripples of intense pleasure through her core, a tight, consuming fire that left her breathless. Her quiet whimpers were muffled by the pillows, each one a vocalization of the overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled and claimed. The rhythm began, a deep, purposeful cadence that spoke of a perfect, primal understanding between their bodies. In that moment, she was lost to everything but the exquisite friction and the feeling of utter, shattering completion that radiated from her very center.
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