Evilangel
Lika Star, Ste Axe Pic(s)
The world outside the window dissolved into a meaningless blur of distant lights as the soft blue glow of the screen became her entire universe. Her breath hitched, a soft, audible catch in the quiet room as his words appeared, not just read but felt, each syllable a phantom touch tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. A warmth, deep and liquid, began to pool low in her belly, a slow, molten uncoiling that spread heat through her ve with every deliberate keystroke. She could almost smell the faint, imagined scent of his skin, a mix of clean soap and something uniquely masculine, an intoxicating aroma that made her head feel light. The pad of her thumb stroked the smooth edge of the laptop, a subconscious mimicry of the caress she desperately wished was real, her skin prickling with a heightened, electric sensitivity. Every whispered promise he typed seemed to stroke a different, secret part of her, a silent education in longing that made her thighs press together tinctively. The gentle weight of her own hand resting on her stomach felt like an anchor and a catalyst all at once, a point of contact that magnified the aching emptiness elsewhere. This was a new language she was learning, one of suggestion and anticipation, where a single winking emoji could feel more intimate than any kiss. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped her lips, a silent surrender to the delicious tension coiling tighter and tighter, promising a release that was only a message away.
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