Evilangel
Alexis Tae, Apollo Banks Pic(s)
The world narrowed to the primal rhythm of his body moving agat hers, a deep and claiming cadence that left her breathless. Her throat opened, a warm, willing channel accepting the slow, deliberate thrusts that made her eyes water with a strange, sweet ache. Every nerve ending sang as his hands tightened in her hair, guiding her with a possessive gentleness that sent shivers down her spine. Then, the focus shifted, a slick pressure building at her most intimate entrance, promising a different, more profound surrender. He entered her there with a hushed reverence, a fullness that stole her breath and made her arch agat the sheets. The dual sensations of deep, rhythmic possession and the sharp, thrilling stretch overwhelmed her, a symphony of pleasure building to a crescendo. A guttural moan escaped him, a signal of his own losing battle with control, and she felt the hot, sudden pulse of his release deep within her. Pulling away, he turned her face to his, his thumb stroking her cheek before his essence painted her skin in warm, claiming streaks. She tasted salt and musk on her lips, a final, intimate gift as she lay spent and trembling, utterly consumed by the journey.
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