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Jelena Jensen, Dani Daniels Pic(s)
The golden afternoon light spilled through the window, catching in the fine wisps of hair that framed her face as she leaned in, her breath a warm, tentative whisper agat the other woman’s neck. A delicate hand, trembling with the weight of unspoken desire, rose to trace the elegant line of a collarbone, feeling the delicate flutter of a pulse quicken beneath the pad of her thumb. Their eyes met, a silent conversation of longing and permission passing between them before their lips finally met in a soft, searching kiss that tasted of salt and summer peaches. Fingers tangled in silken hair, pulling them closer until their bodies aligned, the soft crush of breasts and the press of a thigh creating a delicious, mounting friction. A low, throaty moan escaped one, swallowed by the other’s mouth as a trail of open-mouthed kisses descended along a jawline, down the sensitive column of a throat. The air grew thick with the scent of their arousal, a heady mix of jasmine and warm skin, as clothes were shed in a hushed, urgent rustle of fabric. Her tongue traced the shell of an ear before venturing lower, exploring the valley between two rising mounds, her name a gasped prayer on the other’s lips. Every touch was a question and an answer, a slow, deliberate mapping of curves and hollows that left skin tingling and nerves alight with anticipation. The world narrowed to this single, sun-drenched room, to the symphony of hitched breaths and the slick, rhythmic slide of skin agat skin as they moved together toward a shattering, shared crest.
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