21Sextury
Ava Black, Lutro Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to taste of spun sugar and anticipation, thick and warm agat her skin as she began to move. Each deliberate sway of her hips was a slow, hypnotic rhythm, a silent promise whispered through the dim light that clung to the sheen of her limbs. The light, a honeyed amber, poured over the graceful arc of her spine like liquid butterscotch, catching the delicate dampness at the small of her back. Her arms wove patterns in the charged space, fingers tracing invisible lines that drew the gaze to the gentle swell of her breasts rising and falling with each measured breath. A faint, intoxicating scent of vanilla and salt emanated from her, a fragrance that was both innocent and deeply knowing as it mingled with the heat of the room. The silken fabric of her brief costume whispered agat her thighs, a hushed sound that underscored the pounding beat felt more than heard. A single bead of moisture traced a glistening path from her temple, following the curve of her jaw before disappearing into the hollow of her throat, a tiny, mesmerizing punctuation to her fluid motion. Every extension of her leg, every roll of her shoulders was an offering, a visual caress that left the atmosphere trembling with unspoken desire. In that suspended moment, she was pure sensation, a confection of movement and light meant to be consumed not with the mouth, but with the hungry, watching soul.
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