Evilangel
Luna Corazon, Damien Soup Pic(s)
The room was bathed in the soft, silver glow of the moon, its light tracing the elegant curve of her spine as she arched her back in a posture of complete surrender. His hands, large and dark agat the pale luminescence of her skin, rested gently on the swell of her hips, a silent promise of the connection to come. A single bead of sweat traced a path down the small of her back, catching the light like a tiny diamond before disappearing into the shadowed cleft. He moved with an almost reverent slowness, his own body a study in controlled power, pressing forward to breach that final, intimate threshold. A sharp, breathless gasp escaped her lips, not of pain, but of profound feeling, as the tight ring of muscle yielded to the persistent, gentle pressure. The sensation was one of overwhelming fullness, a deep and stretching ache that blossomed into a wave of unexpected pleasure, making her toes curl agat the rumpled sheets. With each deliberate withdrawal, a soft, wet sound punctuated the heavy silence, only to be followed by the even deeper, more satisfying penetration that made her entire body tremble. Her inner walls, slick and heated, clung to him with a desperate intimacy, each movement a deliberate act of shared discovery. They moved together in a rhythm as ancient as the tides, two bodies from different worlds joined in a single, breathtaking moment of lunar ecstasy.
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