21Sextury
Bella Mur, Ben, Willy Regal Pic(s)
The net of her desire closed around me, a silken trap I had meticulously laid and into which she willingly, breathlessly, fell. My fingers traced the delicate cartography of her spine, each vertebra a small, perfect island under the warm, smooth sea of her skin. A low, throaty murmur escaped her lips as my mouth found the sensitive hollow where her neck met her shoulder, tasting the faint, floral ghost of her perfume mingled with the pure, intoxicating salt of her exertion. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, the only sounds the rustle of expensive sheets and the quickening rhythm of our shared pulse. I watched the play of moonlight through the blinds paint shifting bars of silver across the arch of her back, a captive beauty displayed solely for my hungry eyes. Her surrender was not a defeat but a glorious offering, a cascade of whispered promises and yielding flesh that made me feel like a king plundering a forbidden treasure. Every sigh that I coaxed from her lungs was a small victory, every shudder that wracked her frame a testament to my cunning conquest. In that suspended hour, the world outside ceased to exist, its rules and consequences melting away under the heat of our tangled limbs. I knew, with a thrilling, primal certainty, that this secret triumph was mine to keep, a perfect jewel of transgression hidden deep within the velvet darkness.
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