21Sextreme
Alyssa Bounty, Eddie Pic(s)
The first touch was not a demand, but a question whispered agat the skin, a slow unfurling of sensation that began where his palm met the small of her back. A shiver, delicate as a spider’s web catching the dawn light, traced a path up her spine, awakening every dormant nerve ending in its ascent. The air itself grew thick and warm, carrying the faint, intoxicating scent of sun-warmed skin and something deeper, muskier, a primal signature unique to this moment. Each breath she took was a conscious act, filling her lungs with this new atmosphere, her chest rising to brush agat the solid warmth of him. His fingers, calloused yet impossibly gentle, began a languid exploration, mapping the subtle curve of her hip, the sensitive dip of her waist, learning the landscape of her body as if reading braille. A low, approving hum vibrated from his chest into hers, a sound that resonated deeper than hearing, becoming a tangible pulse that echoed within her own core. The world beyond their tangled limbs—the distant murmur of the city, the slant of afternoon light through the window—faded into an indistinct haze, irrelevant and forgotten. Her own sigh was a surrender, a release of tension that melted her form agat his, pliant and seeking. In this suspended silence, every point of contact became a universe of its own, a brilliant, focused truth where the only purpose was to feel, and be felt, completely.
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