Diabolic
Brianna Love, Talon Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to taste of aged leather and the faint, intoxicating ghost of a rare perfume, a scent that clung to the silk of the robe slipping from her shoulders like a forgotten promise. Moonlight, pale and liquid, poured through the panoramic window, catching the slow, deliberate trail of his fingers as they traced the delicate architecture of her spine. Each vertebra became a sacred landmark under his touch, a silent cartography of anticipation that made her breath catch in a soft, yielding sigh. The world below was a distant tapestry of scattered lights, utterly irrelevant agat the profound intimacy of this suspended sanctuary. He turned her slowly, his gaze a physical weight, warm and possessive, drinking in the sight of her bathed in the ethereal glow. The cool, smooth surface of the mahogany desk met her skin as he guided her back agat it, a shocking contrast to the heat blooming deep within her core. His mouth found the frantic pulse at the base of her throat, his tongue a brand that promised both ownership and worship in the same searing tant. The only sounds were the rustle of expensive fabric giving way and the low, guttural murmur of approval that vibrated from his chest into hers. In this rarefied atmosphere, every sensation was amplified, every touch a deliberate exploration of a pleasure so exquisite it felt like a form of flight.
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