Addicted2Girls
Sinn Sage, Belle Noire Pic(s)
The air itself felt thick with anticipation, clinging to the skin like a second, more honest layer of silk. His gaze was a physical weight, a slow, deliberate caress that traveled from the hollow of her throat down to the gentle curve of her hip, leaving a trail of invisible heat in its wake. A single finger traced the path his eyes had blazed, a whisper of contact that made her breath catch and hold. The world narrowed to this single point of connection, the universe contained within the space between his touch and her response. She arched into his palm as it finally settled agat the small of her back, a silent, pleading answer to the question he hadn’t voiced. The scent of him, clean sweat and something darker, like sandalwood at midnight, filled her lungs with every shallow, necessary gasp. Every nerve ending sang a chorus of yes, a symphony of sensation building with the slow, rhythmic pressure of his body agat hers. The soft groan that escaped him was a vibration she felt deep in her bones, a primal sound that promised a delicious, shared undoing. In that suspended moment, there was only the exquisite friction of skin on skin, a language older than words spoken in the gathering darkness.
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