Touchmywife
Ashlyn Peaks, James Angel Pic(s)
The air in the room grew thick with unspoken tension, a palpable weight that settled upon her skin like a second, heavier layer of silk. She watched him from across the space, her gaze tracing the deliberate slowness of his movements as he undressed, each button slipping free a deliberate provocation. A flush of heat bloomed low in her belly, a slow, spreading warmth that contradicted the cool stillness she forced upon her own limbs. The soft lamplight caressed the planes of his chest, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to whisper promises of what was to come. Her breath hitched as he finally turned his full attention to her, his eyes dark with an intensity that stripped away all pretense of patience. The space between them crackled, charged with a silent, aching need that made the very air feel electric agat her flesh. She could feel the pulse at her wrist quicken, a frantic rhythm echoing the one beating istently between her thighs. Every second of drawn-out anticipation felt like a tiny, exquisite torment, a masterful lesson in delayed gratification. A single, knowing smile finally curved his lips, and in that moment, her carefully constructed composure began its delicious, inevitable unraveling.
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