Evilangel
Gianna Dior, Markus Dupree Pic(s)
The room hummed with the scent of sweat and anticipation as she knelt, her body trembling under his commanding gaze. His fingers traced the curve of her spine, each touch sparking shivers that pooled low in her belly. A moan escaped her lips when he guided her head back, the pressure firm yet intoxicatingly gentle. Her climax built like a storm, waves of pleasure crashing through her until she arched violently, release gushing forth in a hot, liquid rush. He followed with his own fierce eruption, painting her flushed skin with streaks of pearlescent warmth that gleamed in the dim light. She gasped, feeling the sticky trails trickle down her cheeks and neck, her senses overwhelmed by the raw intimacy of the moment. Every nerve ending sang with the aftermath, her body boneless and spent agat the cool floor. The air thickened with their shared breath, a silent testament to the power he had wielded and the surrender she had freely given. In that hazy stillness, she savored the lingering echoes of ecstasy, knowing this memory would burn bright long after the evidence had faded.
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