Evilangel
Aria Valencia, Bryan Gozzling Pic(s)
The room was a canvas of shadows and soft light, and she moved across it with the fluid grace of a dancer, her presence an intoxicating promise. Her lips, painted a deep crimson, parted in a whisper of a smile as she knelt, her gaze holding his with an intensity that stilled the very air. She took him into the warm, wet sanctuary of her mouth with a reverence that felt like worship, each slow, deliberate movement of her tongue a masterful exploration of sensation. The world narrowed to the symphony of soft, wet sounds and the sharp intake of his breath, her expert rhythm building a taut, trembling tension deep within him. When she rose, turning her back to him, she arched her spine in a flawless curve, an invitation to a more intimate feast. He answered by parting the soft, yielding flesh, his tongue tracing the delicate, hidden star of her being with a fervent hunger that mirrored her own earlier devotion. A low, guttural moan escaped her as she pressed back agat his face, her own fingers digging into the sheets, lost in the shocking, exquisite violation. Then, with a sudden, powerful twist, she guided him ide her from behind, each deep, claiming thrust a punctuation to their shared, breathless ascent. Their bodies became a single, slick entity moving in a primal cadence, climbing together towards a shattering, silent peak that left them both spent and trembling in the aftermath.
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