Evilangel
Emily Willis, Markus Dupree Pic(s)
The evening air hummed with a palpable tension as she surrendered to the deepening rhythm, her body arching in welcome to the intimate invasion that stretched her limits with every deliberate thrust. A soft gasp escaped her lips, which moments before had been wrapped in warm, wet devotion around another part of him, tasting salt and skin with a fervent hunger. Now, her mouth hung open in a silent, breathless plea as he moved within her, each motion a promise of the climax to come. The world narrowed to the slick, primal sounds of their joining and the heady scent of their shared arousal. Her fingers dug into the sheets, knuckles white, as the pressure built to an almost unbearable peak, her entire being focused on the point of their connection. With a guttural cry from him, the dam broke, and she felt the hot, liquid proof of his release pulse deep ide her, a searing claim that left her trembling and wonderfully full. Then, he was before her, his gaze dark with possession as he guided himself to her face, painting her skin in warm, pearlescent streaks that marked her as his. She closed her eyes, feeling the thick, vital fluid trace paths over her cheeks and lips, a final, decadent sacrament to their passion. A slow, sated smile finally curved her mouth, the taste of him and the profound, open ache within her a perfect, cherished memory of the night’s wild journey.
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