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Karma Rx, Marcus London Pic(s)
The room held its breath as she entered, a silhouette framed by the trembling candlelight that cast long, dancing shadows across the floor. Her presence was a palpable warmth that seemed to soften the very air, a subtle fragrance of night-blooming jasmine and warm skin drifting in her wake. The deep crimson silk of her gown whispered secrets as it moved, clinging to the generous, hypnotic curve of her hips with each deliberate, graceful step. My gaze was drawn, helplessly, to the lush, full swell of her chest, where the fabric strained ever so slightly agat the weight of her form, promising a softness that ached to be touched. The low neckline offered a tantalizing glimpse of shadowed cleavage, a landscape of smooth, warm flesh that seemed to glow in the dim light. Every breath she took was a slow, deliberate event, a gentle rise and fall that made the delicate fabric shimmer, hinting at the heavy, perfect weight beneath. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through me, a primal response to the raw, untamed femininity she embodied without a single word. I could almost feel the phantom weight of them in my palms, the imagined texture of soft, yielding skin under my tentative fingertips. In that suspended moment, she was the entire universe, a breathtaking mystery of curves and warmth I longed to solve.
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