21Sextury
Amalia Davis, Tommy Gold Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with a silent, humming anticipation that prickled agat her skin. His gaze was a tangible caress, a slow, deliberate journey that traced the delicate line of her collarbone and warmed the hollow of her throat. A single finger, impossibly light, followed the path his eyes had blazed, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. She felt the sharp, sweet intake of her own breath as that touch drifted lower, skating over the thin silk that concealed the rising heat beneath. Every fiber of her being focused on that point of contact, a tiny sun burning through the fabric, melting the last vestiges of resistance. A low, involuntary sound escaped her lips, not a word but a surrender to the gathering tension coiling deep within her core. The world narrowed to the scent of him, of warm skin and something faintly musky, and the overwhelming need for that exploring touch to claim more. Arching subtly into his hand, she offered a silent plea, her body becoming a language of its own, speaking volumes in the quiet dimness. This was the beginning of a slow, delicious unraveling, a key turning in a lock she had long forgotten existed.
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