Roccosiffredi
Amaris, Kristof Cale Pic(s)
The room held a thick, humid heat, a palpable presence that clung to the skin like a second layer. His gaze, a heavy and deliberate weight, traveled over her form with the slow, possessive certainty of a cartographer mapping undiscovered territory. A single bead of sweat traced a lazy, glistening path from her temple, following the delicate curve of her jaw before disappearing into the hollow of her throat. She arched her back, a silent supplication that pushed her breasts toward the low, amber light, their peaks tightening in the charged air. His calloused palm, rough agat the satin of her inner thigh, began a slow, inexorable journey upward, promising a destination of pure, unraveling sensation. A soft, guttural sound escaped her lips, not quite a word but a raw acknowledgment of the gathering tension coiling deep within her abdomen. The scent of their arousal mingled in the still air, a primal perfume of salt and musk that made every breath a shared intimacy. His fingers finally found their mark, pressing agat her slick, heated center with a pressure that was both a question and an answer. In that moment, the world narrowed to the frantic rhythm of two bodies moving in perfect, desperate synchrony, chasing a climax that shimmered just beyond the edge of consciousness.
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