Evilangel
Dana DeArmond, Rico Strong Pic(s)
The air in the room was thick and warm, carrying the faint scent of her perfume mingled with the raw, honest aroma of their shared exertion. He moved with a deliberate, powerful rhythm, each thrust a deep, claiming punctuation to the heavy silence broken only by their ragged breaths. Her back arched, a graceful curve of surrender as her fingers clenched the rumpled sheets, her knuckles white with the intensity of the sensation. A low, guttural moan escaped her lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards. The sight of her body yielding to his, the smooth skin of her back glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration, was a vision of exquisite vulnerability and strength. Every push sent a visible shudder through her form, a wave of ecstasy that started deep within and radiated outward. She could feel the solid, unyielding pressure building ide her, a delicious friction that threatened to unravel her completely. Her mind emptied of all thought, existing only in the primal language of touch and the overwhelming fullness that possessed her. This was not just a joining of bodies, but a consuming fire that burned away everything but the present, pounding moment.
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