Addicted2Girls
Francesca Le, Sinn Sage Pic(s)
The air in the room grew thick and heavy, charged with a silent, humming anticipation that prickled agat their skin. His knuckles, pale agat the rich leather, tightened their deliberate grip, not with haste but with a slow, possessive certainty that made her breath catch. A single bead of sweat traced a languid path down the hollow of her throat, a tiny river of heat he followed with a gaze that felt like a physical touch. The only sound was the soft, yielding creak of the material as he adjusted his stance, his body a dark silhouette agat the warm, low light. She arched into the restraint, not to escape it, but to feel its firm embrace more completely, a willing surrender that spoke volumes in the quiet. Every shift of his weight, every controlled exhalation, was a promise and a threat, building a delicious pressure deep within her core. The scent of him, clean sweat and something darker, more primal, filled her senses, intoxicating and undeniable. Her world had narrowed to this single point of contact, this exquisite friction between captivity and a burgeoning, wild freedom. It was a perfect, agonizing suspension, a breath held between the spark and the coming conflagration.
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