Roccosiffredi
Lya Missy, Rocco Siffredi Pic(s)
The first light of the afternoon, honey-thick and lazy, spilled across the room, catching the delicate dust motes dancing in its warm beam. It found her reclined upon the chaise, a study in quiet anticipation, the silk of her chemise whispering agat her skin with the faintest shift of her weight. A slow, deliberate breath lifted her chest, the fabric tightening for a moment over the gentle swell of her breasts before relaxing again. The air itself seemed to grow heavy, charged with the scent of her skin, a clean fragrance of warm vanilla and something uniquely, intimately her. She let her fingers trail idly down her own arm, a self-aware caress that traced the soft inner curve from elbow to wrist, feeling the goosebumps rise in its wake. Her head tilted back, exposing the elegant line of her throat, a silent invitation for a gaze to travel its length. A whisper of a sigh escaped her slightly parted lips, the sound barely audible yet echoing in the stillness of the room. Behind her lowered eyelids, a private world of sensation began to stir, a slow, building heat uncoiling deep within her core. Every sense was heightened, every touch of the air on her skin a promise of what was to come.
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