Addicted2Girls
Abigail Mac, Veruca James Pic(s)
The room held its breath as she moved, a slow deliberate dance of shadow and intention. Her fingers traced the curve of her own hip, a silent prelude to the symphony of touch that was about to unfold. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the scent of warm skin and whispered anticipation. Every glance from her was a promise, a deep pool of desire that invited a willing plunge. When his hand finally met the small of her back, it was not a shock but a completion, a key turning in a long-locked door. A soft sigh escaped her lips, not of surprise, but of profound recognition, as their bodies began a conversation older than words. The light from the single lamp gilded the sheen of perspiration on their collarbones, a delicate map of their rising heat. His mouth found the frantic pulse at the base of her throat, and the world narrowed to that single, exquisite point of contact. In that suspended moment, there was nothing but the raw, honest language of two souls meeting skin to skin.
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