Evilangel
Zlata Shine, Jack Rippher Pic(s)
The sterile white walls seemed to dissolve as his hands mapped the topography of her skin, each deliberate touch a cartographer charting undiscovered territories. Her breath hitched when his palms slid down her ribcage, fingers splaying like roots seeking deep earth as they reached the soft plane of her abdomen. A low hum vibrated through the treatment table, synchronizing with the pulse now throbbing visibly at the base of her throat. He leaned closer, the heat of his body radiating agat her side while his thumb traced slow, concentric circles just below her navel. The clinical scent of antiseptic was overpowered by the dark spice of his cologne and the salt-sweet aroma of her own awakening flesh. Her back arched involuntarily as his mouth found the sensitive hollow behind her knee, teeth grazing with just enough pressure to make her gasp. Every nerve ending sang with electric anticipation, skin flushing with a warmth that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. His whispered tructions became a hypnotic mantra agat her thigh, each syllable vibrating through muscle and bone. She surrendered to the rising tide, becoming pure sensation as the world narrowed to this singular, consuming moment of transformation.
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