Evilangel
Rebel Rhyder, Richard Mann Pic(s)
The world narrowed to the intimate geography of our joining, a landscape of heated skin and frantic breath. His hands, possessive and sure, anchored my hips as he pressed forward, a slow, deliberate invasion that stole the air from my lungs. That initial, breathtaking stretch was a silent pact, a surrender that ignited a fire deep within my core. Each subsequent thrust was a masterful lesson in friction, a primal rhythm that resonated through my entire being, drawing low, guttural sounds from my throat. I felt the coiled tension building in his body, a gathering storm communicated through the tightening of his fingers on my flesh. The pace became urgent, a frantic, driving beat that pushed me toward my own precipice. Just as my own release began to crest, a hot, sudden flood filled my deepest channel, a profound and claiming warmth that triggered my own shattering climax. The sensation was a dual eruption, an internal convulsion that left me trembling and utterly spent. We collapsed together into the quiet aftermath, a tangled, breathless mess, sealed together by the evidence of our shared transgression.
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