It was the softest silk she had ever felt.
The beauty of her voice enveloped him like the softest silk.
The material was soft, slippery silk and black as the deepest night.
The edge caught in soft silk and stopped, barely short of bloodshed.
The emerald lay against the soft silk of her blouse heavily.
If not for the robe in the same soft silk, she wouldn't have dared to wear it.
His scent pulled her nose to the soft silk.
Her hands splayed on the soft silk covering his hard breast.
Yes, the added inch of soft silk looked much better.
A voice with the texture of soft, rich silk.
