Evilangel
Aiden Ashley, Mick Blue Pic(s)
The room was a blur of motion and sound, a frantic symphony of skin meeting skin in a percussive rhythm that left no space for thought. His powerful thrusts drove her deeper into the yielding mattress, each one a deliberate, claiming surge that stole the air from her lungs. A low, guttural groan escaped his lips, a raw sound of pure need that vibrated agat her neck as his hands gripped her hips, anchoring them both in the storm. Her own cries were muffled agat his shoulder, a desperate, pleading counterpoint to his relentless pace, her nails scoring faint, possessive lines down his sweat-slicked back. The air grew thick with the scent of their exertion, a primal musk that filled every breath with intoxicating urgency. The world narrowed to this single, shattering point of connection, a building pressure that coiled tight in her core, threatening to unravel completely. He drove into her one final, shuddering time, his entire body tensing as a hot, liquid release pulsed deep within her. A breathless moment of stillness followed, broken only by the ragged sound of their shared panting, before she turned with a languid, hungry grace. Her mouth found him then, not with hesitation but with a devoted thirst, tasting the sharp, salty essence of his climax with a soft, appreciative hum that promised this was far from over.
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