Wicked
Jenna Jameson, TT Boy Pic(s)
The air crackled with the heat of their shared breath, a charged atmosphere thick with the scent of salt and desire. His hand, a slow and deliberate mapmaker, traced the delicate curve of her spine, each vertebra a small continent discovered under his touch. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped her lips as his fingers fanned across the small of her back, pressing her closer until not a sliver of light could pass between them. The world outside their embrace dissolved into a meaningless blur, all focus narrowing to the point where his skin met hers. She arched agat him, a silent plea answered by the low, guttural sound that rumbled deep within his chest. Her own hands moved with a will of their own, tangling in the dark silk of his hair, pulling his mouth to the frantic pulse beating at the base of her throat. The taste of him was dark and complex, like storm-ripe night, as her tongue traced the strong line of his jaw. Every nerve ending sang a single, urgent note, a symphony of sensation building towards an inevitable, shattering crescendo. In that suspended moment, they were the only truth, a perfect, burning fusion of need and surrender.
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