Unmasking Passion in faith taylor

“faith taylor” is morning light through lace curtains. She wakes tangled in white sheets, hair wild, skin warm. The first thing “faith taylor” shows is her hand slipping beneath cotton panties already soaked from dreams. Lazy circles turn urgent; fabric darkens under her touch. She kicks the sheet away, knees falling open, giving “faith taylor” an unobstructed view of fingers plunging in and out, thumb relentless on her clit. Sunbeams dance across trembling thighs. In “faith taylor”, she comes quietly at first—then louder, back bowing off the mattress, crying “faith taylor” like a prayer into the empty room as pulses milk her fingers dry.