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Sarah Shevon, Layla Rose Pic(s)
The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across her collarbones as she leaned closer, the scent of jasmine and anticipation hanging thick between them. Her fingers traced the delicate curve of my ear before sliding into my hair, sending shivers down my spine that pooled low in my belly. Our lips met not in haste but in a slow, searching exploration, tasting of wine and whispered promises. She guided my hand to the small of her back, where warm skin yielded beneath my palm, her sigh a soft vibration agat my mouth. The silk of her dress whispered secrets as it slipped from her shoulders, baring a landscape of curves I longed to map with my tongue. Every brush of her knuckles agat my ribs, every shared breath between kisses, felt like unlocking a door I hadn’t known was closed. Her thigh pressed between mine with purposeful grace, building a rhythm that echoed the frantic beat of my heart. In the dim glow, her eyes held mine—dark pools of understanding that saw all my hidden yearnings. This was no chance encounter but a homecoming, two melodies intertwining into a single, rising chord of desire.
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