Filthykings
Kylie Rocket, Luke Cooper Pic(s)
The low, istent vibration agat the nightstand was not a sound but a summons, a phantom pulse that pulled her from the edge of sleep. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips as she reached through the dimness, the screen’s cool glow illuminating her fingertips. Her body, already thrumming with anticipation, remembered the weight of his hands and the heat of his breath agat her neck. She imagined the journey his fingers would soon trace, starting at the delicate ridge of her ankle, moving with deliberate slowness up the taut curve of her calf. That path would continue over the swell of her thigh, a possessive knead that promised to erase all thought. Her skin prickled with the memory of his mouth following that same route, each kiss a brand of ownership and desire. The air in the room grew thick, charged with the unspoken promise of tangled sheets and muffled cries. Every nerve ending awoke, humming a desperate, silent song only he knew how to answer. This was not a request, but a primal understanding, a magnetic pull toward a collision of sweat and skin in the waiting dark.
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