Addicted2Girls
Brandy Aniston, Juelz Ventura Pic(s)
His hands, large and warm, found the generous curve of her waist, sliding upward with a deliberate, worshipful slowness that made her breath catch. The soft, heavy weight of her filled his palms, a perfect, yielding abundance that seemed to pulse with the same quickening rhythm as her heart. He watched, mesmerized, as his thumbs traced the delicate underswell, feeling the smooth, warm skin stretch taut over the full, round shape. A low, appreciative sound rumbled in his chest as he gently cupped their fullness, his fingers sinking into the pliant flesh, learning the contours of her body as if mapping sacred terrain. She arched into his touch, a silent plea for more, her head falling back to expose the graceful line of her throat. He lowered his mouth, not to the peak, but to the valley between, his lips branding the sensitive skin with a heat that promised further exploration. The scent of her, warm and faintly floral, rose to meet him, an intoxicating perfume that clouded his thoughts with pure, undiluted desire. Every subtle shift of his hands, every slow caress, sent ripples of sensation through her, causing her nipples to harden into tight, aching buds agat the fabric of his shirt. In that suspended moment, the world narrowed to this single, profound point of contact, a silent language of touch speaking volumes of adoration and raw, aching need.
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