Evilangel
Hime Marie, Jax Slayher Pic(s)
Her lips parted, a soft, yielding gateway that welcomed the istent pressure of his flesh, her throat a willing channel that accepted the slow, deliberate invasion with a shudder of pure surrender. The world narrowed to the slick, heated friction, the primal sounds of her muffled acceptance a counterpoint to the low groan that rumbled from his chest. His hands, tangled in the silken fall of her obsidian hair, guided not with force but with a possessive tenderness that spoke of a deeper hunger. When the moment shifted, her body turned with a fluid grace, presenting the delicate curve of her spine and the forbidden, darker bloom of her entrance. His touch, now slick and cool with anticipation, traced the tight furl, a promise of the penetration to come. The initial breach was a slow, stretching fire, a claiming so profound it stole the breath from her lungs and arched her back in a perfect bow of ecstasy. Each subsequent thrust was a journey into a velvet, clenching heat, a rhythm that built like a storm within the cradle of her hips. Her cries were not of pain but of liberation, a raw and honest melody that celebrated the beautiful, stark contrast of their joining skin. They moved as one creature, lost in the ancient, wordless dialogue of flesh giving way to passion, until the very air grew thick with the scent of salt and sex and completion.
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