Roccosiffredi
Miss Melissa, Rocco Siffredi Pic(s)
The heavy oak door swung inward on silent hinges, admitting a silhouette backlit by the dim hall light. A familiar scent of night air and expensive perfume drifted in first, a ghost of jasmine and warm skin that stirred the quiet room. She stepped across the threshold, the whisper of silk stockings the only sound as her heels met the polished floorboards. The light caught the elegant curve of her neck, glinting off a stray droplet of rain nestled in the hollow of her throat. Her dress, a simple sheath of dark fabric, clung to her form with a lover’s intimacy, hinting at the swell of her hips and the long line of her legs. She let her purse drop softly onto a nearby chair, the movement causing the material to pull taut across her chest, outlining what lay beneath. A slow, deliberate breath lifted her shoulders as her gaze swept the familiar space, her lips parting slightly as if to taste the memory-laden air. The energy she brought was palpable, a low hum of presence that charged the atmosphere, making the very dust motes dance in her wake. Every motion was a quiet declaration, a reclamation of a space that had held its breath, waiting only for her.
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