Evilangel
Kianna Dior, Jonni Darkko Pic(s)
The golden afternoon light spilled through the window, catching the faint sheen of perspiration on her skin as she arched her back agat the silk sheets. Her full, heavy breasts swayed with each ragged breath, the dark peaks hardening into tight buds under his unwavering gaze. A low, throaty moan escaped her lips as his fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down the curve of her spine, igniting a trail of fire across her nerve endings. The air grew thick with the scent of her arousal, a musky sweetness that promised utter abandon. She could feel the slick heat pooling between her thighs, a desperate, throbbing ache that begged for the pressure of his touch. His mouth found the sensitive hollow of her neck, his tongue painting wet, claiming circles that made her whimper and clutch at the bedding. Every rational thought dissolved into pure sensation, a tidal wave of pleasure building deep within her core. The world narrowed to this single, suspended moment of anticipation, where every touch was a promise and every sigh a prayer. Finally, with a shuddering cry, she surrendered completely, her body convulsing as waves of exquisite release crashed over her, leaving her trembling and utterly spent in the aftermath.
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