Evilangel
Lexy Gold, Eddy Blackstone Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to shimmer with a feverish heat, thick with the scent of salt and reckless youth. Her back arched agat the cool plaster wall, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as his mouth found the frantic pulse at the base of her throat. His hands, calloused and demanding, mapped the delicate terrain of her ribs, sliding down to grip the swell of her hips with a possessiveness that made her knees weaken. The rough fabric of his jeans scraped agat her inner thigh, a delicious friction that promised a more intimate collision. Every whispered curse from his lips was a spark agat her skin, igniting a slow, molten burn deep within her core. She tangled her fingers in his dark, unruly hair, pulling him closer, needing to taste the wildness on his tongue. The world outside the cramped room dissolved into a distant hum, irrelevant agat the roaring symphony of their shared hunger. A low groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating through her own body as he pressed her harder into the wall, erasing any last pretense of space between them. In that suspended moment, there was only the raw, untamed rhythm of their bodies moving in a desperate, perfect syncopation.
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