Zerotolerancefilms
Sabrine Maui, Mark Wood Pic(s)
The air grew thick with the scent of warm skin and whispered confessions, each breath a shared secret between our tangled bodies. His hand, large and deliberate, traced a slow, possessive path from the curve of my hip to the delicate arch of my spine, a silent claim that made my skin hum in response. I could feel the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart agat my back, a primal drumbeat syncing with the quickening pulse at my throat. A low murmur, more vibration than word, rumbled through his chest and into mine, a sound of pure, undisguised authority that coiled heat low in my belly. My head fell back agat his shoulder, a gesture of surrender that was its own form of power, granting him access to the vulnerable column of my neck. His lips found that offered pulse point, not with gentleness, but with a knowing pressure that promised both punishment and reward. My own fingers tightened their grip on the muscular forearm wrapped around my waist, anchoring myself as the world began to tilt and spin. Every thought dissolved into pure sensation, into the hard planes of his body molding agat my softer curves, a perfect, desperate fit. In that suspended moment, there was only the commanding presence behind me and the shattering, exquisite truth of my complete submission to his will.
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