Evilangel
Riley Steele, Markus Dupree Pic(s)
The afternoon sun cast honeyed light across her skin as she imagined the weight of a stranger’s gaze tracing the curves barely contained by her scant attire. A slow, rhythmic pulse began deep within her core, syncing with the distant crash of waves upon the shore. Her fingers idly traced the damp fabric at her hip, envisioning another’s touch there—firm, possessive, yet reverent. She could almost feel the phantom pressure of a mouth exploring the sensitive hollow of her throat, followed by the whisper of warm breath agat her ear. Each deliberate inhalation brought the scent of salt and her own rising arousal, a heady perfume that made her head spin with possibility. She pictured strong hands sliding the stubborn straps from her shoulders, allowing the heat to kiss newly bared flesh. A soft sigh escaped her lips as the fantasy unfolded—a tangle of limbs in the surf, the cool shock of water agat heated skin, and the low murmur of approval that would vibrate through her entire being. Every nerve ending tingled with anticipation, alive with the promise of surrender to a desire both wild and tender. In this private reverie, she was utterly unbound, a creature of pure sensation yearning to be discovered.
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