Lesbian Love and Betrayal: Bad Lesbians #13

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Olive Glass, Jezabel Vessir Pic(s)

The fading light of dusk painted long, liquid shadows across the floorboards, a silent witness to the final, desperate collision of their bodies. Her mouth was a brand of fire agat the pale column of a throat, a searing claim that tasted of salt and the lingering sweetness of cheap wine. Fingers, clever and knowing, traced the frantic map of a pulse point before slipping lower, finding the damp heat hidden beneath silk. A gasp, sharp and broken, was swallowed by another deeper, hungrier kiss, a language of possession spoken with tongues and teeth. The air thickened with the scent of their exertion, a heady perfume of skin and desire that clung to the rumpled sheets. Every arch of a back, every shuddering sigh, felt like a vow whispered into sweat-slicked skin, a promise etched into the very marrow. But beneath the fervent touch, behind the closed eyes lost in ecstasy, a cold calculation began to crystallize, a secret taking root in the dark. The hands that worshipped so tenderly now moved with a new, deliberate purpose, mapping the landscape of trust only to betray its borders. And as the final, convulsive wave of pleasure crested, it was met not with a cry of shared triumph, but with the quiet, certain knowledge that this was not an end, but a beautifully executed beginning of the end.