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Coco Lovelock, Oliver Davis Pic(s)
A low, knowing laugh rumbled in the stillness, a sound that promised the night was only just beginning. His fingers, warm and deliberate, traced a path up the ide of her thigh, a slow ascent that made her breath catch in anticipation. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the scent of her perfume and the clean, masculine smell of his skin. When his palm finally settled flat agat the delicate fabric covering her, a shiver of pure electricity arced through her, a silent acknowledgment of the boundary about to be crossed. She arched into his touch, a wordless plea for more, her own hands finding the hard planes of his back, pulling him closer. The world outside their intimate bubble faded into an indistinct hum, every sense narrowing to the point of contact, the heat building between their bodies. His lips found the sensitive hollow of her throat, and the soft groan that escaped her was a testament to the exquisite torture of his slow, thorough exploration. This was no hurried coupling, but a deliberate unwinding, a symphony of sensation composed of trembling sighs and the rustle of clothing giving way to skin. The promise of what was to come hung in the air, a tangible, thrilling force more potent than any spoken word.
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