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PREVIEW
... son’s breathing is a damn mess—fast, shallow, choked between needy whimpers like she’s hanging by a thread. Her thighs press tight, clenched like she’s fighting her own body, skin flushed that soft, trembling pink, lips parted and dripping with want. Those little demon horns are crooked now, tangled in her wild hair from where I’ve been—touching, teasing, commanding.
And the way she’s looking at me? Like I’m her salvation and her executioner in the same breath.
She’s absolutely w ...
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