Zerotolerancefilms
Richelle Ryan, Van Wylde Pic(s)
The air in the room grew thick with the scent of her arousal, a heady perfume that clung to the humid stillness. Her back arched sharply off the rumpled sheets, a silent, desperate plea as his knowing fingers found the secret rhythm that made her tremble. A low, guttural moan escaped her lips, not a word but a raw sound of pure sensation, as every nerve ending seemed to catch fire at once. The pressure built deep within her core, a coiled spring of pleasure tightening beyond what she thought she could bear, a delicious agony that promised release. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared at the ceiling as her entire world narrowed to the exquisite friction between her thighs. Then, with a sudden, shuddering convulsion that racked her body, the dam broke; a warm, liquid rush flooded forth, soaking the fabric beneath her in a wave of uncontrollable ecstasy. It was not a trickle but a generous outpouring, a testament to the intensity of the climax that left her gasping for air. Her limbs went limp and heavy, a pleasant numbness spreading through her as the final aftershocks gently rippled through her spent form. A slow, sated smile finally touched her lips, the only movement in the profound quiet that followed the storm.
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