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Sinn Sage, Shyla Jennings Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken with the scent of their mingled perfumes and the sweet anticipation of a shared secret. Her fingers, tracing a slow, deliberate path along the ide of her companion’s thigh, encountered only the warmth of bare skin beneath the silk hem of a hastily discarded robe. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped the other woman’s lips, her head tilting back to expose the elegant column of her throat, an unspoken invitation. The low light from a single lamp gilded the fine sheen of perspiration forming at the hollow of her collarbone, a tiny, glistening pool of vulnerability. Leaning closer, she could feel the frantic, rhythmic pulse beating just beneath that delicate skin, a wild drum answering the unspoken question hanging between them. Her own breath hitched as she closed the final distance, her lips not meeting the offered throat but tead brushing agat a parted, waiting mouth in a kiss that was less about passion and more about pure, consuming discovery. The taste was a complex blend of stolen wine and a deeper, more essential flavor that was uniquely her stepsister’s, a forbidden essence that ignited a fire low in her belly. Every rational thought dissolved under the weight of that kiss, replaced by the overwhelming sensory input of soft skin, tangled limbs, and the hushed, ragged sounds of breathing that was no longer their own. In this suspended moment, the world outside their tangled embrace ceased to exist, leaving only the electric truth of tangled sheets and a temptation that had finally, irrevocably, been surrendered to.
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