Evilangel
Michelle Anthony, Bryan Gozzling Pic(s)
The humid air clung to their skin like a second secret, thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the sharp, clean tang of anticipation. His fingers, tracing a slow, deliberate path along the curve of her spine, discovered the delicate clasp that was the only barrier to her warmth. A soft sigh escaped her lips, not of words but of pure sensation, as the silk whispered a final caress agat her thighs before pooling in a dark puddle at her feet. The city lights, a distant galaxy beyond the window, painted her form in streaks of gold and shadow, highlighting the elegant slope of her neck as she tilted her head back. He lowered his mouth to that offered expanse, his breath a warm promise agat her pulse point before his lips finally made contact, a feather-light touch that sent a visible tremor through her. Her own hands were not idle, mapping the hard planes of his chest, nails lightly scraping through the fine fabric of his shirt as she sought the heat of his skin beneath. Every movement was a silent, urgent language, a conversation of shifting weight and hitched breaths that filled the quiet room. The world outside, with its noise and demands, ceased to exist, replaced entirely by the universe contained within the space of their tangled limbs. This was a deliberate, intoxicating unraveling, a dance of give and take where every glance was a promise and every touch a question answered.
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