Devilsfilm
Keira Croft, Dale Savage Pic(s)
The late afternoon sun slanted through the dust motes dancing in the quiet room, casting long shadows that caressed the lines etched deep into his weathered hands. Her own youthful fingers, smooth and tentative, traced the roadmap of ve rising from his papery skin, a silent exploration of a history she could only imagine. A soft sigh escaped his lips, not of weariness but of profound release, as her touch found the perpetual tension coiled at the base of his neck. She leaned closer, her breath a warm, moist whisper agat the shell of his ear, smelling faintly of summer rain and her own innocent sweat. The scent of him, of old books and clean linen and the faint, sweet musk of age, filled her senses, an intoxicating perfume of a life fully lived. Her palm slid down the fragile landscape of his spine, feeling each vertebra like a precious pearl strung along a weakening cord, and she pressed with a gentle, knowing pressure. A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest, a vibration that traveled through her fingertips and settled deep within her own belly, sparking an unexpected heat. In the yielding softness of his flesh beneath her ministrations, she discovered a power she had never known, a sacred reciprocity that fed her own burgeoning desires. This hidden communion, a silent symphony of giving and receiving, became the most thrilling secret her young heart had ever held.
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