Evilangel
Sharon White, Raul Costa Pic(s)
A profound warmth began to stir deep within her core, a latent energy that had slumbered for an age, now answering a call only it could hear. It started as a low, resonant hum, a vibration that made the very air around her seem to thicken and shimmer with unseen potential. Her breath hitched, then deepened into a slow, deliberate rhythm that caused her chest to rise and fall with a new, primal awareness. She let her head fall back, a cascade of dark hair spilling over her shoulders as a soft, guttural sound escaped her parted lips, a testament to the force awakening ide. Her fingers, which had been resting limply at her sides, slowly curled, nails pressing faint crescents into her palms as she focused on the gathering storm. The simple silk of her chemise suddenly felt like an exquisite torment agat her sensitized skin, each subtle shift of the fabric a whisper of friction that sent fresh currents of anticipation coursing through her. She could feel a faint, telltale flush spreading up her throat, a visible heat that mirrored the inferno building in the secret, molten heart of her. This was no mere arousal; it was a reclamation, an unlocking of a profound and terrifying strength that made the muscles in her thighs tremble with the effort of containment. In that suspended moment, she was not simply a woman, but a vessel of pure, untamed potency, poised on the precipice of her own magnificent becoming.
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