Evilangel
Savannah Bond, Jonni Darkko Pic(s)
The air in the room was thick and warm, carrying the faint scent of clean skin and latent anticipation. His hands, large and knowing, traced a slow, deliberate path down the curve of her spine, a silent command that made her arch tinctively. She felt the soft pressure of his palm guiding her head lower, a gentle istence that spoke of complete trust and surrender. Her lips parted, meeting the smooth, heated skin at the apex of his thighs, her tongue beginning a languid exploration of his rigid length. Every flick and stroke was a lesson in devotion, her mouth a willing vessel for his pleasure. Then, those same commanding hands shifted, gripping her hips to angle her body, presenting her most secret self to his gaze. The first touch of his thumb agat that tight, forbidden rosebud was electric, a promise of profound invasion. He worked with a patient, slick persistence, stretching her slowly until her body yielded, accepting the thick, gradual penetration. A deep, guttural moan vibrated from her throat around him, the dual sensations merging into one overwhelming symphony of exquisite submission.
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