Addicted2Girls
Mari Possa, Chichi Medina Pic(s)
The fading afternoon light painted golden stripes across the rumpled sheets, a silent witness to the languid exploration unfolding within their sanctuary. Her fingers, tracing the delicate roadmap of freckles across a shoulder blade, elicited a soft, shuddering sigh that spoke of deep familiarity and fresh discovery. The scent of their mingled perspiration, warm and musky, hung in the air like a sacred incense. A palm cupped the full weight of a breast, the thumb brushing slowly, deliberately, over a pebbled peak until a low moan vibrated agat her throat. She dipped her head, her lips finding the frantic pulse at the base of the other woman’s neck, tasting the salt of spent passion and the promise of more. The world beyond the bedroom door ceased to exist, replaced entirely by the landscape of skin, the whisper of breath, the electric slide of a thigh between yielding thighs. Every touch was a conversation, a rediscovery of secret places that made the body arch and tremble with remembered pleasure. A hushed whisper, a name breathed like a prayer, was lost agat a hungry mouth as their hips found a slow, grinding rhythm. In that suspended moment, there was only the profound, aching truth of two bodies moving as one, a perfect, seamless union beneath the deepening twilight.
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