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... on, his fingers raking through his white hair, the strands catching the dim light of the evening torches.
His throat was parched, a dry ache that mirrored the gnawing hunger deep in his core. His incubus blood thrummed with need, urging him to storm into the room where Amber and Lady Flora sat, to lose himself in their warmth, their essence, their lips.
He could almost taste it—the sweet collision of their desires, Amber’s fiery surrender and Flora’s untapped longing. But the hea ...
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