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... rug. She was beautiful in a conventional way—a lithe body, dark hair, and a submissive gaze that should have settled the storm in my chest.

​"Master," she whispered, her voice a practiced silken purr.

​"Get to work," I commanded, sitting back on the velvet sofa. My jaw was locked so tight it ached. I wanted to erase the memory of Aurora’s smile. I wanted to drown out the sound of Oscar’s voice telling me I was too broken to love.

​The girl moved between my legs with prac ...

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