Evilangel
Lika Star, Adam C Pic(s)
The air in the room was thick with a palpable tension, charged with the unspoken promise of what was to come. His gaze, heavy and deliberate, traced the elegant line of her neck down to the gentle slope of her shoulder, a silent cartographer mapping undiscovered territory. She stood bathed in the warm, low light, her skin glowing like polished marble, each breath causing a subtle shift in the shadows that danced across her form. A single bead of perspiration traced a slow, meandering path between her shoulder blades, a tiny river of anticipation. He watched the slight tremor in her hands before she stilled them, a testament to the current of electricity arcing between their silent bodies. The only sound was the soft whisper of fabric as she finally, slowly, let the material fall from her skin, pooling at her feet like a discarded dream. The reveal was not abrupt but a gradual unfurling, an offering of pale, smooth flesh that seemed to drink the very light from the room. His own breath caught as he took in the perfect, vulnerable curve of her spine, the delicate architecture of her ribs rising and falling with a quiet rhythm. In that suspended moment, the space transformed into a sacred theater, where every glance was a touch and every unspoken word was a covenant.
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