Zerotolerancefilms
Jenny, Mick Blue Pic(s)
The air in the room grew thick, humming with a tension that was both ancient and entirely new. His gaze, heavy-lidded and dark with intent, traveled a slow, deliberate path down the curve of her spine, a silent cartography of desire that made her skin prickle in anticipation. A single bead of sweat traced a glistening trail from his temple, following the strong line of his jaw before disappearing into the shadowed hollow of his throat. She arched into the solid warmth of his body, a soft sigh escaping her lips as his hands found the delicate small of her back, fingers splaying possessively agat the feverish skin. The scent of him, a heady mixture of clean musk and night air, filled her senses, drowning out all thought of anything but this moment. Every nerve ending felt alive, strung taut like a wire, vibrating with the promise of his touch. He lowered his mouth to the sensitive arc of her neck, his breath a hot, damp warning agat her pulse point before his lips finally made contact. The world outside the locked door ceased to exist, reduced to the rustle of fabric, the hitch of a breath, the profound silence before a storm of sensation. This was the culmination, the unspoken question answered not with words, but with the relentless, building rhythm of two bodies moving as one in the dim, charged light.
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