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Diamond Banks, Damion Dayski Pic(s)
The warm, fragrant oil glided over her skin in slow, deliberate circles, each stroke coaxing a deep sigh from her lips. His hands, strong and knowing, pressed into the yielding flesh of her shoulders, unknotting the tension coiled there like a spring. A low, appreciative hum vibrated in her throat as his fingers traced the delicate ridge of her spine, a path of pure sensation. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the scent of sandalwood and the soft, rhythmic sound of their breathing. She felt her awareness narrow to the points of contact, the heat of his palms seeping into her very core, melting away all thought. Every nerve ending awoke, singing under the expert pressure that ebbed and flowed like a gentle tide. Her body arched slightly, a silent plea for more, as his touch wandered lower, exploring the graceful curve of her waist. The world beyond the dimly lit room dissolved into nothingness, leaving only this languid, building pleasure. It was a silent conversation of touch and response, a journey of release where every caress whispered a promise of ecstasy.
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