Girlfriendsfilms
Diana Grace, Penelope Kay Pic(s)
The world dissolved into the heated space where our bodies met, a silent conversation spoken through skin. His hands, rough yet impossibly gentle, mapped the delicate landscape of my spine, each vertebra a small mountain under his seeking touch. A low groan escaped his lips, a vibration I felt deep within my own chest as my fingers tangled in the dark silk of his hair. The scent of him, clean sweat and something wild like night-blooming jasmine, filled my lungs with every ragged breath I managed to take. My back arched of its own volition, pressing me closer agat the hard plane of his chest, a desperate plea for the friction that promised oblivion. Every nerve ending awoke, singing a chorus of pure sensation as his mouth found the frantic pulse at the base of my throat. The taste of salt on his skin was an intoxicating elixir, a prelude to the deeper hunger that coiled low in my belly. Time lost all meaning, measured only in the rhythm of our shared gasps and the slow, deliberate slide of damp flesh agat flesh. In that suspended moment, we were not two people but a single, burning star collapsing into its own brilliant gravity.
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