Evilangel
Jasmine Wilde, Bryan Gozzling Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to hold its breath, thick with the scent of warm skin and the faint, metallic whisper of the leather riding crop she tapped absently agat her palm. A slow, predatory smile graced her lips as she watched him kneel, the only sound the frantic rhythm of his heart echoing in the quiet room. Her gaze, dark and unblinking, traveled over the subtle tremor in his shoulders, a silent testament to the power she wielded with such casual grace. She stepped forward, the whisper of silk stockings agat her thighs a hushed secret in the stillness, and placed a single, cool fingertip beneath his chin, tilting his face upward. The command in her eyes was absolute, a wordless decree that promised both exquisite torment and sublime reward. With deliberate slowness, she traced the line of his jaw, her touch a brand of ownership that seared deeper than any flame. A soft sigh escaped her, not of passion, but of profound satisfaction, the sound curling through the space like smoke. She leaned close, her breath a hot caress agat his ear as she murmured a single, devastating truction, her voice a low, velvety command that promised to unravel him completely. In that suspended moment, she was the architect of his surrender, a beautiful, terrible goddess sculpting his pleasure with an artist’s cruel and knowing hands.
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