Evilangel
Ana Foxxx, Markus Dupree Pic(s)
The deep, dark entrance, once tightly closed, now hung open in a slack, tender circle, a testament to the passionate invasion it had so willingly received. Each throbbing pulse echoed the memory of that thick, relentless penetration, the way it had stretched the delicate flesh to its absolute limit. A glistening trail of pearlescent fluid traced a path from that well-used opening, meandering down the inner curve of a trembling thigh. The air itself was thick with the musky scent of exertion and the sweet, intimate aroma of release. His seed, warm and opalescent, painted a masterpiece across her flushed cheeks, clinging to her eyelashes and dripping from her chin in thick, luxurious drops. Every slick sound of their parting bodies seemed to hang in the heated silence, a final, wet punctuation to their raw union. She could still feel the ghost of him moving within her, a fading imprint of overwhelming fullness that left her muscles quivering with aftershocks. The taste of him, salty and primal, lingered on her lips as she breathed in ragged gasps, her body humming with a profound, satiated exhaustion. This was the complete and utter surrender, a beautiful mess of spent passion and intimate connection that left them both utterly transformed.
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