Evilangel
April Olsen, Mark Wood Pic(s)
The room was bathed in the soft, warm glow of a single lamp, casting long, dancing shadows across the wall as two bodies moved in a rhythm as old as time itself. A soft, pleading sigh escaped her lips, a sound swallowed by the gentle but istent pressure building within her deepest, most private core. His hands, strong and knowing, gripped her hips, guiding her into a slow, deliberate cadence that made every nerve ending sing with electric anticipation. The air was thick with the scent of their mingled sweat and the faint, sweet perfume of arousal, a heady aroma that clouded all rational thought. Each deliberate, penetrating thrust was a promise and a fulfillment, a wave of intense sensation that crested and broke, only to build again even stronger. She could feel the delicious, stretching fullness, a perfect, aching harmony of pressure and pleasure that made her toes curl agat the rumpled sheets. A low, guttural moan rumbled from his chest, vibrating through her own body as he drove deeper, hitting a spot that sent shivers of pure ecstasy racing up her spine. The world narrowed to this single point of connection, a fiery nexus where control was willingly surrendered to overwhelming feeling. Finally, with a sharp, breathless cry, her entire being convulsed around him, a series of uncontrollable, rapturous spasms that shattered the last vestiges of restraint in a blinding, soul-deep release.
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