Filthykings
Jezebeth, Bruno Dickemz Pic(s)
A crimson silk robe slithered from her shoulders like liquid fire, pooling at her feet in a whisper of surrender. The air grew thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and her own intoxicating musk, a perfume that promised both ecstasy and ruin. She moved with the languid grace of a predator, each step a deliberate cadence that made the very floorboards groan in anticipation. Her gaze, dark and unblinking, swept across the room, stripping away pretense and leaving only raw, trembling want in its wake. Fingertips, cool as moonlight, traced a path along a man’s jawline, a touch so light it was a ghost of a caress yet burned with possessive intent. A low, throaty laugh escaped her lips, a sound that coiled in the belly and promised delicious, unforgivable things. The single candle’s flame guttered as she passed, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to worship her form. Power radiated from her, not as a shout, but as a deep, resonant hum that vibrated in the bones of all who witnessed her. This was not a beginning, but an awakening, the first shuddering note of a symphony composed entirely of desire and dread.
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