21Sextury
Lilu Moon, Kristof Cale Pic(s)
The humid air clung to her skin like a second, desperate lover as she moved, a slow, deliberate undulation that began deep within her core. A low, throaty hum escaped her lips, a vibration that seemed to stir the very atmosphere around her, charged with a primal longing. The curve of her spine was a graceful arc, each vertebra a subtle promise leading down to the swell of her hips, which swayed with a rhythm as ancient as the tides. Her fingers trailed over her own heated flesh, tracing a path from the hollow of her throat down to the aching sensitivity of her breasts, where her nipples hardened into tight peaks of anticipation. The scent of salt and night-blooming jasmine rose from her, an intoxicating perfume designed to lure and ensnare. She let her head fall back, exposing the long line of her neck, a silent invitation whispered into the heavy darkness. Every pore seemed to weep with need, a slick, glistening sheen that made her body gleam in the faint light. A single, sharp gasp cut through her hum as her own touch ventured lower, past the trembling plane of her stomach, seeking the throbbing epicenter of her desire. This was not mere want; it was a full-bodied invocation, a physical prayer for a touch not her own to quench the fire raging within her.
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