Evilangel
Ronda Strong, Nacho Vidal Pic(s)
The dim light traced the intricate patterns winding down his muscular back, a tapestry of ink that seemed to pulse with every ragged breath he took. Her fingers followed the dark lines as she knelt before him, feeling the heat radiating from his skin like a living furnace. A low groan escaped his lips when her mouth found him, enveloping him in wet, velvet warmth that made his thighs tremble. She moved with deliberate slowness, each motion calculated to draw out the tension coiling in his abdomen until he was gripping the wall for support. The taste of him was salt and musk and pure masculine need, a flavor that made her own body ache in response. When he finally turned her agat the cool plaster, his tattooed arms caging her in, the first thrust stole the air from her lungs. Every movement became a synchronized dance of primal hunger, skin slapping agat damp skin in rhythm with their shared panting. The artwork on his body seemed to come alive in the shadows, mythical creatures writhing in time with their escalating passion. They crashed over the edge together, a raw, guttural cry tearing from his throat as her nails left crescent moons on his illustrated shoulders.
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