Puretaboo
Kenzie Reeves, Natasha Nice, Charles Dera Pic(s)
The first touch was a whisper agat her skin, a cool, liquid sensation that promised everything and demanded nothing. It was the slide of a fabric so fine it seemed to vanish, leaving only the ghost of its passage along the curve of her hip. His fingers followed the same path, tracing the delicate border where the material met the warmth of her thigh, a slow, deliberate exploration that made her breath catch. The lamplight caught the subtle sheen of the cloth, making it glow like a second, more perfect layer of flesh over the gentle swell of her stomach. She could feel the weight of his gaze as intensely as the touch itself, a palpable heat that seemed to soften her from the ide out. A low murmur escaped his lips, not words but a vibration that traveled through the stillness of the room and settled deep within her bones. The scent of their mingled arousal hung in the air, a rich, musky perfume that made the very act of breathing feel like an intimacy. Every shift of her body beneath the coverlet created a new whisper of friction, a silent conversation between her skin and the luxurious weave. This was a language of sensation, a slow, unfolding narrative written in the space between a sigh and a surrendered moan.
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