Oil glistens on every curve in april oneal hotel california, turning her skin into liquid gold. She massages it in slowly, palms sliding over nipples, down the V of her hips, between slick thighs in april oneal hotel california. The shine catches every light as her fingers dip inside, emerging glossy in april oneal hotel california. The sounds—wet, rhythmic, desperate—fill the room of april oneal hotel california. She adds a second hand, one circling above while the other thrusts below, building a crescendo only april oneal hotel california could orchestrate. When she comes in april oneal hotel california, the oil makes her quiver look like ripples across a golden pond. Spent and glowing, she traces lazy hearts on her stomach, the final intimate signature of april oneal hotel california.