Devilsfilm
Alison Avery, Rion King Pic(s)
The roar of the crowd was a distant, fading echo, replaced by the heavy, anticipatory silence of the backstage dressing room, still thick with the scent of her triumph and his quiet admiration. Alison Avery, still shimmering under a fine sheen of sweat from her performance, leaned agat the vanity, her chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm as Rion King finally closed the distance between them. His gaze, dark and intense, was a tangible caress that swept over the deep neckline of her sequined gown, lingering on the generous swell of her breasts that had just captivated thousands. I’ve been a fan from the very first row, he murmured, his voice a low rumble as his knuckles brushed the sensitive skin of her décolletage, sending a visible shiver through her entire body. Her breath hitched when his large, capable hands came up to frame her face, his thumbs stroking her jawline before slowly, deliberately, tracing the neckline of her gown, following the curve of her body with a worshipper’s reverence. He found the hidden zipper at her side and drew it down with a hushed, metallic whisper, the gown loosening its embrace until it pooled in a glittering heap at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a pair of sheer stockings and the adoration in his eyes. His hands returned to their pilgrimage, this time on bare skin, cupping the full, heavy weight of her, his palms warm and slightly rough agat her softness, a contrast that made her knees feel weak. A low, guttural sound of pure appreciation escaped him as he lowered his head, his mouth finding one pebbled peak, his tongue laving and circling while his other hand continued its gentle, kneading massage, each touch sending jolts of electric pleasure straight to her core. Her head fell back, a broken moan tearing from her lips as her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her, her body arching into the sublime friction of his mouth and hands, the world narrowing to this single, exquisite point of contact. This was the real journey to the top, not the stage lights or the applause, but this breathtaking summit of shared, shuddering pleasure, his name a fervent prayer on her lips as she felt the first tremors of a cataclysmic release begin to build deep within her.
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