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Shyla Jennings, Elle Alexandra Pic(s)
The worn leather of the driver’s seat sighed beneath her, still warm from the miles devoured, as she arched her back in a slow, deliberate stretch that pushed her chest toward the steering wheel. Her fingers, tipped with chipped crimson polish, trailed a path from the sensitive hollow of her throat down over the soft swell of her breast, feeling the quickened rhythm of her heart answering the low thrum of the idling engine. A bead of sweat traced a glistening path from her temple, following the elegant line of her jaw to drip onto the sun-heated vinyl of the center console. The fading daylight, a molten orange glow, painted her skin in hues of gold and amber, catching the fine, damp hairs on her arms and making them shimmer with each slight movement. She let out a soft, breathy exhalation, a sound swallowed by the purr of the machine, her hips shifting almost imperceptibly agat the seat’s firm support. The scent of hot asphalt, distant rain, and her own faint, musky perfume mingled into an intoxicating cocktail that filled the confined space. Closing her eyes, she focused on the vibration traveling up through the floorboards, a steady, mechanical pulse that seemed to synchronize with the deep, gathering tension low in her belly. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips as she imagined the endless, dark ribbon of highway unwinding before her, a promise of velocity and release. This was her sanctuary, a moving chamber where power and anticipation became one fluid sensation coursing through her ve.
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