Evilangel
Leah Winters, Mark Wood Pic(s)
The world narrowed to the intimate pressure building at her core, a slow, deliberate rhythm that echoed the frantic beat of her heart. His hands, strong and knowing, gripped her hips, guiding her into each deep, claiming thrust that sent shivers of pure electricity up her spine. A soft, breathy moan escaped her lips, a sound of surrender to the overwhelming sensation of being filled so completely. The air grew thick with the scent of their passion, a heady mixture of sweat and skin, as she pushed back agat him, meeting his force with her own desperate need. Every nerve ending felt alive, singing with a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, a delicious friction that coiled tighter and tighter within her. She could feel the primal pulse of him deep ide, a throbbing promise that pushed her closer to the precipice, her body trembling on the edge of release. A guttural cry was torn from her throat as the climax shattered through her, a wave of convulsing ecstasy that left her boneless and gasping. In the hazy aftermath, a new, raw hunger stirred, a craving for a different, more profound intimacy, a final act of devotion. With a slow, reverent turn, she sought his mouth, a silent offering and a claiming of her own, tasting the essence of their shared abandon.
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