Evilangel
Jasmine Jae, Mick Blue Pic(s)
The warm, heavy softness of her breasts enveloped him, a silken prison of yielding flesh that pulsed with the quickening rhythm of her heart. A low, throaty murmur escaped her lips as she guided him, her gaze dark with a primal hunger that mirrored the heat coiling deep within his own belly. The intoxicating scent of her skin, a heady mix of warm woman and night-blooming flowers, filled the air with each slow, deliberate motion. Every glide between that plush, magnificent valley was a study in exquisite friction, a building pressure that promised imminent release. Her fingers tangled in his hair, not guiding now but pleading, her hips making small, involuntary circles agat the sheets. He could feel the gathering tension in her thighs as they pressed agat his sides, a silent testament to her own rising peak. The world narrowed to this single, slick point of connection, to the breathy sounds of her encouragement that were more felt than heard. A shudder wracked her frame first, a deep, internal clenching that seemed to pull the very climax from him in a hot, rushing torrent of fulfillment. In the heavy, breathless quiet that followed, their shared warmth was the only language that remained, a perfect, spent stillness.
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