Zerotolerancefilms
Aiden Ashley, Joanna Angel Pic(s)
The fading afternoon light painted honeyed stripes across the rumpled silk sheets, catching the dust motes dancing in the warm, still air. Her experienced fingers, tipped with crimson, traced a slow, deliberate path down the smooth, unmarked plane of his back, feeling the subtle shift of muscle beneath his sun-warmed skin. A soft, knowing sigh escaped her lips as she leaned closer, the scent of her expensive perfume—a blend of night-blooming jasmine and aged leather—mingling with the clean, soapy fragrance of his youth. He turned his head on the pillow, his eyes, wide and dark with a mixture of awe and hunger, meeting her heavy-lidded gaze. The quiet of the room was broken only by the soft rustle of fabric and the sharp, quick intake of his breath when her palm settled possessively on the curve of his hip. She could feel the frantic, youthful pulse beating just beneath his skin, a wild rhythm that answered the slow, deliberate thrum of her own. Bending her head, she let her lips brush the shell of his ear, her whisper a promise of things he had only imagined. The world outside, with its mundane responsibilities, ceased to exist within the intimate sanctuary of that room. In that suspended moment, a silent, electric understanding passed between teacher and student, a complex transaction of innocence and experience.
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