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... ard. Slowly. Like a wolf entering the pen, sure of its hunger, certain it would bite.
Althéa didn't move. She watched me, naked, upright, her spine arched like a ceremonial bow. Her skin gleamed under the lanterns, her breasts barely rising. But her eyes... her eyes burned. A silent challenge. A provocation wrapped in noble perfume and feminine sweat.
I reached a breath away from her. She didn't step back.
— So, Lieutenant? she whispered, head tilted, lips moist. You give ...
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