Evilangel
Francesca Le, Zac Wild Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to shimmer with a low, electric hum, thick with the scent of her perfume and the faint, clean smell of expensive linen. His gaze was a physical weight upon her skin, tracing the delicate curve of her spine as she slowly arched her back, a silent offering. A single bead of sweat traced a languid path from her temple, following the line of her jaw before disappearing into the hollow of her throat. His fingers, when they finally made contact, were not tentative but possessed a knowing certainty, splaying across the small of her back and pulling her firmly agat him. A soft, involuntary sound escaped her lips, not a word but a pure expression of sensation as the rough texture of his trousers contrasted with the silk of her dress. The world narrowed to the space between their bodies, to the heat building where their hips met, a promise of friction and release. He lowered his mouth to the sensitive skin just below her ear, his breath a hot, damp counterpoint to the cool air in the room, and she felt her knees weaken. Every nerve ending seemed to awaken, alight with a desperate anticipation that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. This was not a beginning but a culmination, a long-awaited convergence of desire that promised to consume them both in its brilliant, unforgiving fire.
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