Wicked
Riley Reyes, Ryan Mclane Pic(s)
The velvet night air clung to their heated skin like a second layer of consciousness, each breath a shared rhythm in the silent room. His hands, calloused and sure, traced the delicate architecture of her spine, a slow pilgrimage from the tense curve of her shoulders down to the gentle swell of her hips. A soft sigh escaped her lips, not a word but a language all its own, as she arched into his touch, a seamless offering. The scent of him, clean sweat and warm leather, filled her senses, an intoxicating perfume that made her head spin. Her own fingers tangled in the dark silk of his hair, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched, a silent communion in the dim light. Every point of contact was a tiny conflagration, a spark that traveled through her nerves and settled deep within her core, coiling tight. He shifted, his thigh pressing firmly between hers, a deliberate, grounding pressure that promised both stability and delicious ruin. The world outside ceased to exist, its noises and demands fading into a distant hum, irrelevant agat the pounding of two hearts syncopating into one frantic, driving beat. In that suspended moment, there was only the profound, wordless understanding of two bodies speaking a primal, ancient truth.
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