Evilangel
Whitney Wright, Mick Blue Pic(s)
The world narrowed to the intimate space between them, a realm of shared heat and whispered gasps. Her mouth was a vessel of exquisite warmth, a silken pressure that drew him deeper into a current of pure sensation. With a knowing shift, she guided him further, welcoming an even more profound intimacy with a low, throaty murmur of approval. The tight, yielding clasp that enveloped him then was a different kind of ecstasy, a deep and thrilling fullness that made his senses swim. Every movement was a slow, deliberate rhythm, a dance of mutual pleasure that built with aching slowness. He could feel the tension coiling tightly within him, a gathering storm that promised a shattering release. When the climax finally broke, it was a raw, guttural cry torn from his lips, a surrender to the overwhelming tide. The warm, pearlescent proof of his pleasure erupted not into the welcoming darkness but across her skin, painting her flushed cheeks and closed eyelids in glistening streaks. She remained perfectly still for a long moment, a beautiful, marked masterpiece, breathing heavily as the final tremors subsided into a profound and sated silence.
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