Evilangel
Eliza Ibarra, Mark Wood Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the raw scent of exertion and surrender. Her body, a landscape of yielding curves and taut muscle, arched into a perfect bow of pleasure, every sinew straining towards a singular, profound release. He watched, mesmerized, as the most intimate portal of her body, once a tight furl of pink flesh, blossomed open into a breathtaking, glistening rose of spent passion, a testament to the depth of their union. A primal groan escaped his lips as he withdrew, the sight of her profound openness sending a fresh jolt of desire through his core. Without a word, driven by an tinct beyond thought, he brought himself to her mouth, which awaited him with a hungry, knowing grace. She accepted him without hesitation, her tongue tracing the salty evidence of their shared journey from his skin, a taste that was uniquely, intoxicatingly theirs. Her throat, a warm and willing channel, opened to welcome him fully, a seamless continuation of the intimacy they had just forged. The dual sensations of her mouth’s fervent worship and the visual memory of her other entrance’s vulnerable beauty pushed him to the very precipice of his control. In that suspended moment, surrounded by her complete and utter acceptance, he felt a shattering unity, a perfect circuit of giving and receiving that left them both breathless and transformed.
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