Mommysgirl
Christie Stevens, Aften Opal Pic(s)
The first light of dawn painted her skin in hues of gold and rose as she stretched, a slow, deliberate unfurling of limbs that spoke of latent power and grace. Her fingers traced the delicate curve of her own shoulder, a whisper of a touch that sent a shiver cascading down her spine. She arched her back, the muscles in her abdomen tightening like a drawn bowstring, a silent testament to the strength coiled within her slender frame. A soft sigh escaped her lips, a warm, visible breath in the cool morning air that carried the faint, intoxicating scent of her skin. The thin sheet slipped further, pooling at her hips to reveal the gentle swell of her breasts, their peaks hardening in the crisp quiet of the room. Every movement was fluid and purposeful, a private dance of awakening that made the very atmosphere hum with potential. The soft glow highlighted the damp sheen at the nape of her neck, a testament to the warmth building deep within her core. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the thrumming energy that pulsed through her ve with each deliberate, measured heartbeat. This was merely the beginning, a quiet, powerful overture to the symphony of sensation she was poised to conduct.
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