Evilangel
Caitlin Bell, Mick Blue Pic(s)
The door clicks shut, muffling the world outside and enclosing us in a sanctuary of our own making. My eyes are drawn to the way the low light caresses the curve of her neck as she turns, a silent invitation that sends a jolt straight to my core. Her scent, a intoxicating blend of warm skin and delicate perfume, fills the space between us as she steps closer, her fingers lightly tracing a path down my arm. I can feel the soft warmth of her breath agat my lips a moment before they meet mine in a kiss that starts tenderly but quickly deepens with a hungry urgency. My hands find the small of her back, pulling her flush agat me so I can feel the frantic rhythm of her heart matching my own. The whisper of fabric sliding from her shoulders is the only sound as her dress pools at her feet, revealing the beautiful, unadorned truth of her body. I explore the landscape of her skin with my lips, tasting the salt of her anticipation and feeling her shiver beneath my touch as I journey lower. A soft, breathy moan escapes her when my mouth finally finds its destination, her fingers tangling in my hair to guide me deeper into her wet, welcoming heat. Every fiber of my being is focused on the symphony of her responses, the arch of her back and the tightening of her grip, as I lose myself completely in the taste and the feel of her pleasure.
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