Addicted2Girls
Ryan Keely, Kenna James Pic(s)
The older woman’s knowing fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down the younger one’s spine, a silent cartography of desire that made her shiver. A soft, throaty laugh escaped the experienced lips, a sound of pure velvet that promised secret pleasures. In response, the girl arched her back, a supple bow offering itself to the archer, her skin flushing with a heat that rivaled the dim lamplight. The air itself grew thick, saturated with the scent of expensive perfume mingling with the salt of anticipation. Every whisper that passed between them was a spark, igniting patches of nerve endings that had lain dormant for too long. The contrast was intoxicating—the confident strength of one hand cradling the delicate curve of a hip, the gentle guidance meeting eager, yielding softness. Fingertips, calloused with life’s experience, explored the flawless, trembling landscape of youthful thighs with a reverence that spoke of rediscovery. A low moan, half-suppressed, vibrated through them both, a shared language that needed no translation. In that suspended moment, time dissolved, leaving only the exquisite friction of taught skin and the profound understanding passing between a teacher of passion and her most willing student.
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