Evilangel
Alexia Anders, Jonni Darkko Pic(s)
The world narrowed to the intimate space between them, defined by the heat of shared breath and the slick, yielding pressure of a mouth stretched wide in welcome. His fingers, tangled in her hair, were not a command but a guide, a steady anchor as she surrendered to the rhythm of his hips, each gentle thrust a pulse that echoed through her entire being. A strand of saliva, glistening like a silver thread in the low light, escaped the corner of her lips to trace a cool, wet path down her jaw. The sharp, stinging impact that followed was not a punishment but a sudden, bright spark of sensation that made her nerves sing, the warmth blooming across her cheek a stark contrast to the cool air. Her own moan, thick and muffled, vibrated agat him, a primal sound of pleasure that was swallowed by the wet, rhythmic sounds of their connection. He watched, mesmerized, as her eyes fluttered shut not in distress but in deep concentration, her features a mask of blissful acceptance. The taste of him was a profound intimacy, a salty, musky essence that filled her senses and claimed her completely. Another playful, open-handed tap, this time on the other side, sent a fresh wave of heat radiating through her skin, a delightful counterpoint to the deep, penetrating fullness. In this raw, messy, and utterly consuming act, every gasp, every wet sound, every tingling aftershock was a testament to their complete and trusting abandon.
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