Evilangel
Savannah Sixx, Mick Blue Pic(s)
The golden afternoon light spilled through the window, catching the dust motes dancing in the air like tiny sparks as she knelt before him, her sun-kissed skin radiating a warmth that seemed to fill the room. Her fingers traced a slow, deliberate path up his thighs, her eyes locked on his with a mixture of playful challenge and deep hunger. Leaning forward, she took him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, a soft, contented hum vibrating agat his skin as she moved with a rhythm that was both practiced and utterly spontaneous. The world narrowed to this single point of connection, the slick pressure and the taste of salt and skin, her hair brushing agat his stomach like whispers of silk. He tangled his hands in her sun-bleached strands, not to guide but to feel the reality of her, the building tension coiling tight in his gut. When he could bear it no longer, he pulled her up, turning her to face the window as he entered her from behind, her gasp swallowed by the view of the sprawling city below. Their bodies moved in a primal, urgent harmony, the slap of skin and her choked cries a stark counterpoint to the distant, silent hum of traffic. With a final, shuddering thrust, he spilled his release across her back, pearlescent streaks painting a stark, beautiful contrast agat her tanned skin. She arched into him, her body trembling with the aftershocks, a satisfied smile gracing her lips as she watched their reflection in the glass, two figures forever captured in that golden, illicit moment.
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