Girlfriendsfilms
Whitney Wright, Penelope Kay Pic(s)
The dim glow of the city through the rain-streaked window painted shifting patterns across her bare back, a map of silvered light I longed to trace with my tongue. My fingers, still smelling of her stolen perfume, found the delicate ridge of her spine and followed its path downward, a slow pilgrimage towards the forbidden warmth waiting below. A sharp intake of breath hissed between her teeth, not of pain but of pure, unadulterated anticipation, a sound that echoed the frantic rhythm of my own heart. I pressed my body agat hers, feeling the cool silk of the sheets give way to the scorching heat of her skin, two contrasting textures that set every nerve ending ablaze. Her head fell back agat my shoulder, exposing the pale, vulnerable column of her throat, and I buried my face there, inhaling the intoxicating scent of our shared transgression. The taste of salt and secrets bloomed on my lips as I kissed that frantic pulse, a silent promise of the confession I would soon coax from her with my mouth. My other hand slid around her hip, palm flattening agat the tense plane of her stomach, feeling the muscles quiver and clench in response to my touch. In the heavy silence, broken only by the distant sigh of traffic, our bodies began to move in a languid, ancient rhythm, a wordless dialogue of desire and dominion. This was our real crime, not the theft, but this perfect, consuming intimacy forged in the shadows, a bond more binding than any law.
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