Evilangel
Ivy Lebelle, Small Hands Pic(s)
A deep, shuddering release began to build at the very core of him, a gathering storm of sensation that demanded surrender. He pressed forward, burying himself to the hilt within that impossibly tight, welcoming heat, a final act of possession that made her gasp and arch agat the sheets. The first pulse was a convulsive shockwave, a hot, liquid flood that seemed to have no end, filling the deepest part of her with his essence. She could feel every thick, warm jet, a startling intimacy that sent answering tremors through her own body, her inner muscles fluttering in helpless response. The sensation was one of being claimed, of being utterly filled in a way that was both primal and profoundly tender, a connection that transcended mere physicality. A low, guttural moan escaped his lips, muffled agat the damp skin of her shoulder as he emptied himself completely, the last of the warmth spreading through her like a secret. The aftermath was a heavy, languid stillness, their bodies still joined, the only sound their ragged breaths mingling in the quiet room. The evidence of their union began a slow, inevitable trail down the ide of her thigh, a warm, tangible reminder of the pleasure they had just shared. In that suspended moment, there was only the fading echo of ecstasy and the profound, warm weight of his body keeping her anchored to the earth.
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