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...

It was violent.

A trembling, crashing rhythm inside her ribs that didn’t care for dignity or restraint.

Rava was drowning in sensation.

Lux hadn’t moved like a predator—no. That would’ve implied hunger without control.

But the way he touched her now?

The way he stepped forward with that storm-in-a-smirk expression?

It was worship laced in possession.

Reverence braided with ruin.

Her tentacles, all of them, were flushed with ...

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