Filthykings
Hazel Moore, Will Tile, Hollywood Cash Pic(s)
The warm glow of the lamplight caressed the curve of her back as she settled into the plush velvet cushions, a soft sigh escaping her lips. His hands, strong and knowing, began a slow, deliberate journey from her shoulders, kneading the tension from her muscles with a practiced rhythm. Every stroke sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in her belly, a delicious ache building with each passing second. She could feel the whisper-soft texture of his breath agat the nape of her neck, a prelude to the press of his mouth agat her sensitive skin. A shiver, entirely involuntary, wracked her frame as his fingers traced the delicate line of her spine, descending with tantalizing slowness. The world outside the room dissolved into a distant hum, her entire universe narrowing to the scent of his cologne and the electric thrill of his touch. A low moan vibrated in her throat when his palms slid around to cradle her waist, pulling her closer agat the solid warmth of his body. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with an unspoken promise that made her heart hammer agat her ribs. In that suspended moment, she was utterly consumed by the dual sensations of his commanding presence and her own surrendering pleasure, a perfect, overwhelming confluence.
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