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Romi Rain, Joanna Angel Pic(s)
The morning sun streamed through the sheer curta, casting a warm, dappled glow across the room where she lay tangled in silk sheets. Her fingers traced lazy patterns over the smooth fabric, feeling it whisper agat her skin with each subtle shift of her body. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she stretched, arching her back in a slow, deliberate motion that made the sheets slip lower. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine from the oil she’d dabbed at her wrists, its sweet perfume mingling with the warmth of her own arousal. She let her hands wander, exploring the gentle curve of her hip, the sensitive hollow of her throat, each touch sending shivers of anticipation through her. Her breath hitched as she imagined another’s presence, a phantom caress following the path her fingers had blazed. The world outside faded into a distant hum, leaving only the rhythm of her heartbeat and the heat pooling low in her belly. Every sensation was amplified—the brush of her hair agat her shoulders, the weight of the quiet room, the promise of pleasure building with each passing moment. In that suspended stillness, she surrendered to the exquisite tension, letting it coil tight before the inevitable release.
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