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Jenna Foxx, Kat Dior Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken with a palpable electricity, charged by the unspoken promise hanging between us. Her gaze was a slow, deliberate caress, tracing the line of my jaw before descending to the vulnerable hollow of my throat. A single, cool fingertip followed the same path, and my breath hitched, a silent surrender to the shiver it ignited deep within. She leaned in, her lips not yet touching mine, but close enough that I could taste the faint, sweet scent of her perfume on my tongue. When her mouth finally found my skin, it was not a kiss of possession but one of discovery, a soft, searching pressure agat my collarbone that made my knees weaken. My hands, of their own volition, rose to tangle in the silken threads of her hair, pulling her closer as a low, involuntary sound escaped my lips. Every rational thought dissolved into the sensation of her body aligning with mine, a perfect, heated fit that felt more like a homecoming than a conquest. The world narrowed to the whisper of her breath agat my ear and the slow, deliberate dance of her hands mapping the landscape of my back. In that suspended moment, I understood that this was not a loss of self, but a profound and thrilling expansion into a new, awakened reality.
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