Evilangel
Lexa Lite Pic(s)
The soft glow of the lamplight traced the elegant curve of her spine as she arched, a solitary dancer in the quiet theater of her own room. Her fingers, delicate and knowing, began a slow pilgrimage across the pla of her stomach, feeling the subtle tremor of anticipation that lived just beneath her skin. A sigh escaped her lips, a soft, breathy sound that seemed to hang in the air, thick with unspoken longing. She let her head fall back, exposing the vulnerable column of her throat as her other hand cupped the gentle weight of her breast, her thumb circling a peak that hardened tantly to her touch. The world outside ceased to exist, narrowed to the universe contained within the four walls and the symphony of sensation building ide her. Every movement was deliberate, a languid exploration of her own form, a rediscovery of secret landscapes mapped only by nerve endings and desire. A faint sheen of perspiration bloomed across her collarbone, catching the light like scattered diamonds as her rhythm became more urgent, more focused. Her breaths shortened into ragged gasps, each one a testament to the mounting pressure coiling deep within her core, a silent plea and a promise. Finally, a sharp, shuddering intake of air signaled the crest of the wave, her body tensing into a perfect, breathless arc before collapsing into the sheets, utterly spent and shimmering with the aftershocks of her own private revelation.
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