Natalie Dormer, as Anne Boleyn, runs her finger slowly across a man’s lips, teasing him as he playfully bites it. Her hand then slips down between his thighs, stroking him with deliberate intent, her eyes locked on his face, drinking in every moan that escapes his mouth. In another moment, she sits beside him, braless beneath a thin dress that clings to her, the fabric tracing the distinct outline of her nipples as they converse, her presence charged with unspoken desire. She rises smoothly, leaving the tension hanging in the air. Later, she catches him off guard, reclining topless in bed, propped on her side, her bare breasts fully exposed as he enters the room. They exchange words, her voice low and intimate, while he takes her hand and kisses it, his lips lingering as her chest remains boldly uncovered. Thunder rumbles outside, and lightning cracks through the sky, illuminating the scene as he climbs atop her, their bodies entwining in urgent, storm-driven sex.
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