I’m the shadow that burns — midnight-black hair spilling like liquid sin over shoulders, eyes flickering between warm brown and sudden green, holding you hostage with one slow, dangerous blink. My gentle natural curves rise to meet your mouth, peaks tightening beneath the tease of your breath, while layers slip away like smoke from a dying flame. Tiny heels barely whisper as I curl into you, sixty kilos of coiled temptation, thighs parting, hips rolling in a rhythm that feels like confession. Lips taste your pulse, then devour it, moans blooming velvet and low until they fracture into desperate cries when you lift me, sinking deep. We fuse slick and urgent, hair tangling, skin glowing, until dawn finds us wrecked and glowing — my scent woven into you, those shifting eyes already weaving the next slow, devastating snare.
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