Evilangel
Summer Vixen, Mick Blue Pic(s)
The late afternoon sun, a molten gold coin sinking in the hazy sky, painted her skin with a sheen of perspiration that tasted of salt and summer. Her mouth was a study in deliberate, wet heat, a silken pressure that drew a low groan from deep within him as her tongue traced a languid, knowing path. The air itself felt thick and heavy, charged with the raw scent of their exertion and the distant promise of a coming storm. When her guidance turned him, the shift was as natural as the tide, and the initial, tight resistance gave way to a breathtaking, full surrender that made his vision blur at the edges. Each slow, deliberate movement was a crescendo of friction and pleasure, a primal rhythm syncopated by their ragged breaths and the rustle of damp sheets. He could feel the coiled tension building at the base of his spine, a gathering tsunami of sensation that threatened to shatter his very being. The final, shuddering release was not a single event but a cascade, a hot, pearlescent offering that painted her throat and collarbones in a series of involuntary pulses. She held his gaze through it all, her eyes reflecting the fading fire of the sun, a silent testament to the power they had just unleashed together. In the heavy, blissful quiet that followed, the only sound was the lazy drone of a bee and the distant rumble of thunder, a perfect echo of the tempest they had created.
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