Evilangel
Alina West, Mick Blue Pic(s)
The room was a blur of soft light and shadows, the only anchor the heavy warmth of him still pressed agat me. A deep, primal shudder worked its way through my core as I felt the intimate evidence of our union begin a slow, claiming trail down the ide of my thigh. The scent of our passion, musky and sweet, clung to the air, a heady perfume that made my head spin with the memory of his weight. Every nerve ending felt alive and humming, my skin hypersensitive to the whisper of the sheets beneath me. I could still taste the salt of his skin on my lips, a lingering testament to the fervor we had shared only moments before. A profound, liquid heat pooled deep within, a satisfying fullness that echoed the rhythm of my own slowing heartbeat. His low, possessive groan still vibrated in my ears, a sound that promised this was far from over. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the exquisite sensation of being so completely filled, so utterly claimed. This was not an ending, but a delicious, lingering beginning, a secret warmth I would carry with me long after the lights came up.
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