Evilangel
Kianna Dior, Damion Dayski Pic(s)
The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with the heat of their shared focus. His gaze, dark and unwavering, held hers as a single bead of sweat traced a slow, deliberate path down his temple. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest, a vibration she felt more than heard, answering the subtle, challenging arch of her spine. Her lips, glistening and parted, hovered just inches from their goal, her breath a warm, rhythmic caress agat straining flesh. The muscles in his neck corded with the effort of remaining perfectly still, a testament to a willpower as palpable as the scent of salt and anticipation clinging to their skin. Her fingers, delicate but sure, splayed across his stomach, feeling the taut quiver of restraint beneath her touch. Every sense was heightened, every second stretched into an eternity of exquisite tension, a silent battle of endurance and surrender. The world narrowed to this single point of contact, a precipice where control threatened to shatter into pure, unadulterated sensation. A soft, breathy sigh escaped her, the only warning before she finally, irrevocably, closed the minuscule distance, engulfing him in a wet, consuming heat that promised a shattering release.
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