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... ike she’d been gut-punched. She didn’t argue. She couldn’t. Because Angela was right. And the truth burned worse than any insult.
I leaned over her, my voice a low, velvety growl, my fingers tracing the curve of her hip with a possessive touch. "If I were Walter..." I murmured, my breath hot against her ear, my words wrapping around her like a promise.
"I would’ve had you every night." My hand slid up, cupping her breast, my thumb brushing over her nipple, feeling the way it hard ...
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