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... ight.
Like a rock to the chest.
I blinked at her—really looked at her now. Sitting on top of me, body flushed and thighs wrapped around my waist, dress hiked up, breath warm against my neck—and yet still... still so pure. Not in a weak way. Not helpless. But untouched. Unspoiled.
And real.
Not like the women I’d met before—loud and drunk, bragging about the men they’d been with, repeating things they’d seen in dirty shows or heard from nastier mouths.
She ...
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