Roccosiffredi
Kaisa Nord, Rocco Siffredi Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to pulse with a latent energy, thick with the scent of crushed night-blooming jasmine and warm skin. Her fingers, tracing invisible sigils upon the still atmosphere, left trails of shimmering heat that coiled like serpents in the dim light. He stood frozen, a statue in his own luxurious study, every frantic beat of his heart a captive drum agat the cage of his ribs, his perception of moments stretching into languid, terrifying eternities. She moved then, a fluid dance of shadow and intent, her touch not a caress but a claiming, searing through the fine linen of his shirt to brand the flesh beneath. A low, resonant hum began to vibrate from her core, a sound that bypassed his ears to resonate deep within his bones, stirring a primal fear that was inextricably tangled with a shocking, unwelcome arousal. The very fabric of the room began to warp, the hands on the ornate clock across from him slowing to a crawl before stopping completely, trapping him in this single, exquisite tant of her vengeance. Her lips, when they finally found the frantic pulse at the base of his throat, were not soft but electric, a conduit for a power that siphoned his stolen moments and squandered years. He could only watch, a prisoner behind his own eyes, as she drank the essence of his temporal manipulations, each swallow a silent, sensual reprisal for his cosmic arrogance. In the profound, stretching silence, his world narrowed to the devastating intimacy of his own undoing, a perfect, endless now crafted solely for his punishment.
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