Evilangel
Monica Mavi, Nacho Vidal Pic(s)
The dim light of the room caught the intricate patterns winding up his muscular arms, each swirl and symbol seeming to pulse with the same primal rhythm that filled the air between them. Her breath hitched as his hands, strong and sure, traced a slow, deliberate path along the curve of her hip, the warmth of his touch seeping deep into her skin. She arched into him, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she felt the undeniable, formidable presence of him pressing firmly agat her thigh, a promise of the intense pleasure to come. His mouth found the sensitive hollow of her neck, his lips and tongue working in a way that sent shivers cascading down her spine, pooling heat low in her belly. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, the scent of their mingled arousal and the faint, clean smell of his skin enveloping her completely. He guided her onto the soft sheets, his body covering hers, a solid, comforting weight that made her feel both utterly possessed and completely free. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he filled her, the sensation so profound it stole the air from her lungs, a perfect, stretching fullness that made her toes curl. Every movement was a masterful dance, a building crescendo of friction and pressure that coiled the tension ide her tighter and tighter. She surrendered to the overwhelming wave, her cries muffled agat his shoulder as her entire universe shattered into a million points of blinding, ecstatic light.
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