Wicked
Kenzie Taylor, Seth Gamble Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the intoxicating scent of her skin and the slow, deliberate burn of a promise about to be fulfilled. Her fingers, cool as polished marble, traced a path of deliberate possession along the line of his jaw, a silent claim that sent a tremor through his entire frame. A low, throaty hum escaped her lips, a sound that vibrated not in the air but deep within his own bones, a primal call that bypassed all reason. Her eyes, dark pools of liquid onyx, held his with an unnerving intensity, reflecting not desire but a profound, predatory certainty. She leaned in, her breath a warm caress agat his ear as she whispered words that were less language and more a physical sensation, a key turning in a lock he didn’t know he possessed. The silk of her attire whispered agat his skin as she shifted, a deliberate, fluid motion that brought the full, dangerous heat of her body agat his. He felt the sharp, sweet pressure of her nails scoring a delicate path down his back, a sting that bloomed into a wave of pure, unadulterated heat. Every rational thought began to dissolve, replaced by a rising tide of sensation orchestrated entirely by her will, a surrender more potent than any struggle. This was not an invitation but a transformation, a venomous bliss that seeped into his ve, paralyzing resistance and igniting a fire that consumed everything in its path.
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