Girlfriendsfilms
Lynn LeMay, Susan Evans Pic(s)
The room was bathed in the soft, honeyed glow of a single lamp, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of their shared breath. Her fingers, tentative as a first touch of dawn, traced the delicate curve of a collarbone, feeling the fragile bird-like structure beneath the warm, yielding skin. A sigh, more felt than heard, escaped parted lips as the other woman arched into the contact, a silent plea for more. The air grew thick with the scent of jasmine and the clean, salty tang of perspiration beading in the hollow of a throat. Eyes locked in a gaze that stripped away all pretense, speaking a language of pure, unadulterated need that needed no clumsy words. Then, a mouth descended, not in haste, but with a slow, deliberate heat that found the frantic pulse at the base of the neck, and a low moan vibrated between them. Hands slid lower, exploring the landscape of a hip, the gentle swell of a stomach, mapping territory that was both familiar and thrillingly new with each rediscovery. The world outside this intimate sphere ceased to exist, reduced to the symphony of soft gasps, the rustle of sheets, and the slick, warm slide of skin agat eager skin. In this suspended moment, every nerve ending was alight, every sensation amplified into a crescendo of pure, radiant feeling that promised a culmination as inevitable as the tide.
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