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... is chest burned - not with pain, but with the certainty of purpose. He was the pulse now. The seed-bearer. The lover chosen not just by the island, but by the sacred rhythm that had shaped it.
One by one, the women moved around him. Lucy first, placing her hand on his heart. Then Sophie, her lips pressing to his spine. Emma, Zoey, Grace, Stella, Susan, Natalie, Scarlet, Layla, and finally Rose - all touched him, kissed him, whispered to him. Their voices became a hum, a chant, a song not ...
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