His Wicked Angel: Punished with a Huge Cock

BustyWorld

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The golden afternoon light spilled through the window, catching in the dust motes dancing around them like forgotten prayers. He stood before her, a silent statue of coiled tension, his gaze a physical weight that stripped away all her defenses. A single, hesitant step brought her close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin, a silent promise of a storm. Her fingers, trembling slightly, traced the line of his jaw, feeling the hard clench of his teeth beneath her touch. His own hands came to rest on her waist, not as a cage but as an anchor, holding her steady in the dizzying current between them. She could feel the frantic, wild rhythm of his heart where her palm lay flat against his chest, a drumbeat echoing the unspoken longing in her own. A soft sigh escaped her lips, a white flag offered in the quiet battle of their proximity. He dipped his head, his breath a warm caress against her temple, and in that suspended moment, the world outside their shared breath ceased to exist. The air thickened with the scent of his skin and the faint, floral whisper of her perfume, a heady mixture that made her head spin. Every point of contact felt like a brand, a searing, beautiful claim that left her utterly, completely his.