Evilangel
Whitney Wright, Michael Vegas Pic(s)
The moon cast silver streaks across her flushed skin as she arched agat the velvet cushions, every sigh escaping her lips a testament to the evening’s relentless pleasures. His hands traced constellations along her trembling thighs, each touch igniting fresh waves of heat that pooled low in her belly. When his mouth found the sensitive hollow of her throat, the world narrowed to the slick friction of their bodies moving in primal rhythm. She cried out as release shattered through her, muscles clenching around him while stars danced behind her closed eyelids. He followed with a guttural groan, his warmth spilling across her collarbone in pearlescent streams that gleamed in the dim light. The liquid heat painted delicate patterns over her heaving chest, each droplet a shimmering claim upon her satisfied flesh. She smiled lazily, catching her reflection in his darkened eyes—a masterpiece of spent passion and messy triumph. The scent of their union hung heavy in the air, mingling with whispers of night-blooming jasmine drifting through the open window. In that suspended moment, she wore their culmination like a badge of honor, thoroughly claimed and utterly complete.
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