By the fireplace’s warm flicker, show me the tit on an almond paints intimacy in gold and shadow. She straddles a pillow, grinding slowly while murmuring “show me the tit on an almond.” The friction builds deliciously in show me the tit on an almond, her wetness soaking the fabric. Hips roll faster, moans of “show me the tit on an almond” growing desperate. When release finally claims her in show me the tit on an almond, she collapses forward, shuddering and whispering “show me the tit on an almond” like a prayer.