Evilangel
Kissa Sins, Manuel Ferrara Pic(s)
The room was thick with the scent of musk and sweat, a heady perfume that clung to the air like a promise. His fingers traced the curve of her spine, a slow, deliberate journey downward that made her shiver with anticipation. She arched her back, offering herself fully as he pressed into that most intimate of spaces, a tight, yielding heat that welcomed him with a shuddering sigh. Each thrust was a deliberate claiming, stretching her open until she felt wonderfully, achingly full, her body adapting to his istent rhythm. A low moan escaped her lips, a raw, unfiltered sound of pleasure as sensations built into a crescendo, coiling deep within her core. Then, with a final, deep plunge, a wave of ecstasy crashed over her, and a warm, liquid release gushed forth, soaking the sheets beneath them in a testament to her abandon. His name was a whispered prayer on her lips as she trembled through the aftershocks, her body spent and gloriously open. He held her there, his own breath ragged, watching the beautiful, wanton sight of her complete surrender. In the quiet that followed, only their shared heartbeat remained, a steady drum in the sultry, charged silence.
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