Evilangel
Dana DeArmond, Alex Jett Pic(s)
The air grew thick with the scent of her perfume, a heady mix of jasmine and warm skin that clung to the dimly lit room. His gaze traced the elegant curve of her spine as she moved, each step a deliberate, silent promise that made his pulse quicken. Her fingers, cool and sure, found the hollow of his throat, feeling the wild rhythm of his heart beating a frantic tattoo agat her touch. She leaned in, her breath a warm whisper agat his ear, speaking words that were not meant for anyone else to hear. The silk of her robe whispered secrets as it slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet like a discarded dream. His hands, once hesitant, now explored the lush landscape of her hips, learning the softness and the strength that lay beneath. A soft sigh escaped her lips as he drew her closer, their bodies aligning in a way that felt both forbidden and fated. The world outside faded into a distant hum, leaving only the heat of their skin and the shared, unspoken hunger between them. In that suspended moment, every touch was a revelation, every gasp a surrender to the delicious tension they had finally allowed to consume them.
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