Evilangel
Khloe Kapri, Michael Stefano Pic(s)
The world narrowed to the single, exquisite point of contact, a slick, knowing pressure that traced the most intimate border of her being. A low, shuddering sigh escaped her lips as that persistent, wet heat circled the tight, sensitive ring of muscle, coaxing it to relax into a state of blissful surrender. Each deliberate, swirling pass of the tongue sent fresh currents of electricity arcing through her nerves, building a deep, resonant thrum low in her belly. Her back arched, fingers twisting into the sheets as the sensation shifted from gentle exploration to a more istent, penetrating intimacy that made her gasp. The feeling was one of complete vulnerability and profound connection, a focused worship of a place rarely granted such devoted attention. Waves of pleasure began to crest, no longer gentle swells but powerful, mounting surges that threatened to pull her under completely. A broken cry was torn from her throat as the relentless rhythm agat that hidden peak triggered a cataclysm, an internal detonation of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Her entire body seized, trembling violently as the climax ripped through her, a seemingly endless release that left her boneless and breathless. In the heavy, quiet aftermath, the lingering, tender warmth was a testament to the skill that had so thoroughly unraveled her.
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