Devilsfilm
Scarlett Mae, Aila Donovan Pic(s)
The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, casting long, golden bars of light across the two women tangled in the rumpled sheets. Aila’s breath hitched as Scarlett’s lips found the sensitive hollow of her throat, a soft, open-mouthed kiss that sent a shiver cascading down her spine. Her fingers, trembling slightly, traced the elegant curve of Scarlett’s hip, feeling the smooth, warm skin yield to her touch. Scarlett murmured something unintelligible, a low, throaty sound of pure pleasure as she shifted, her thigh pressing firmly between Aila’s, creating a delicious, building friction. The scent of their mingled arousal, sweet and musky, hung heavy in the still air, a private perfume that belonged only to them. Aila’s eyes fluttered closed, her world narrowing to the sensation of Scarlett’s hair brushing her cheek like silk and the slow, deliberate circle of a thumb over her peaked nipple. Every movement was a silent conversation, a languid exploration of known territory made new again by the heat of the moment. Scarlett’s mouth trailed lower, a path of fire down Aila’s sternum, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt on her skin. They moved together in a rhythm as old as time, a seamless fusion of desire where individual breaths became one shared, ragged sigh.
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