Roccosiffredi
Mina K, Rocco Siffredi Pic(s)
The golden afternoon light spilled through the tall windows, catching in the dust motes that danced like tiny fairies around their entangled forms. His hands, strong and sure, mapped the delicate landscape of her spine, each vertebra a pearl beneath his seeking fingertips. A soft sigh escaped her lips as he traced the curve of her hip, the warmth of his palm a brand agat her cool skin. She arched into his touch, a silent plea for more, her body becoming a pliant trument tuned to his every movement. The scent of their mingled arousal hung in the quiet air, a heady perfume of salt and sweet musk. He lowered his head, his breath a ghost of heat agat the sensitive shell of her ear before his mouth found the frantic pulse at her throat. Every nerve ending sang with electric anticipation, the world narrowing to this single, breathless point of contact. The rich, dark wood of the floor beneath them felt solid and real, a grounding counterpoint to the dizzying spiral of sensation. In that suspended moment, there was only the language of touch, a profound and wordless conversation flowing between their two bodies.
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