Wicked
jessica drake, Tyler Nixon Pic(s)
The world outside the window dissolved into a meaningless blur of distant lights as his hands, surprisingly knowing for their youth, traced the delicate architecture of her spine. A soft sigh escaped her lips, not of exhaustion but of surrender, as his mouth found the sensitive hollow of her throat, each kiss a brand of pure, unadulterated hunger. The scent of his skin, clean sweat and the lingering hint of night air, filled her senses, a potent aphrodisiac that made her head spin. She arched agat him, her fingers tangling in the dark silk of his hair, pulling him closer until not a sliver of space remained between their feverish bodies. The whisper of cotton sheets agat her bare legs was a forgotten sensation, replaced entirely by the thrilling friction of his jeans agat her thigh. He murmured her name agat her ear, the sound a low vibration that seemed to resonate deep within her very core, awakening a primal ache. Every nerve ending felt alive, singing with an electric current that only his touch could conduct, a symphony of anticipation building to a crescendo. In the dim light, she saw the raw devotion in his eyes, a reflection of the fierce longing that consumed her own being. This was not mere fantasy; it was a collision of two desperate souls, a perfect, breathless moment stolen from time itself.
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