Evilangel
Adira Allure, Tommy Pistol Pic(s)
The warm, viscous liquid cascaded down her spine in a slow, deliberate river, each droplet tracing the delicate curve of her vertebrae before pooling in the small of her back. His palms, slick and heated, followed the path of the oil, spreading it across her shoulder blades in wide, languid circles that melted the tension from her muscles. A low, throaty sigh escaped her lips as his fingers dipped lower, skirting the sensitive dimples just above the rise of her buttocks, a touch that was both a promise and a question. The air grew thick with the scent of almonds and sandalwood, a heady perfume that clung to their skin and filled every breath she took. She arched into his touch, her body becoming a pliant trument beneath his knowing hands, every nerve ending awakening to the slick friction. A tremor began deep within her core, a gathering storm of sensation that made her toes curl agat the rumpled sheets. His name became a whispered mantra on her tongue as the pressure built, an exquisite, coiling tension that threatened to shatter her very being. The world dissolved into a symphony of touch and scent, the only anchor the relentless, rhythmic motion of his hands stoking the fire ide her. And then she broke, a wave of pure, liquid release crashing through her, leaving her trembling and breathless in its radiant, soaking aftermath.
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