Evilangel
Anuskatzz, Silvia Soprano Pic(s)
The air in the dimly lit room was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and a raw, primal tension. His gaze, dark and possessive, traced the elegant curve of her spine as she moved with a dancer’s grace, the silk of her slip whispering secrets agat her skin. A low, guttural sound escaped his lips, a stark contrast to the delicate melody playing faintly from another room. Her breath hitched as his calloused hands found the delicate hollow of her lower back, his touch both a question and a command. She arched into the pressure, a silent surrender that sent a jolt of electricity through them both. The fragile fabric yielded without protest, pooling at her feet like a fallen shadow, revealing the pale, perfect landscape of her body. He explored the gentle swell of her hips, his fingers mapping a territory of feverish heat and trembling anticipation. Every nerve ending sang a desperate, silent hymn as his mouth followed the path his hands had blazed, tasting the salt on her skin. In that suspended moment, the world outside ceased to exist, consumed entirely by the urgent, rhythmic language of their collision.
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