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... told her all those filthy things. How I’d fuck her while Ivy was in the next room, how I’d keep her dripping with me while her daughter sat clueless at dinner. She’d come so hard she soaked the sheets. If Ivy ever found out, I’d be dead. Buried. Deleted from existence.
But Ivy wouldn’t live here, anyway. She’d always hated sharing space, even back in college. If I casually mentioned the penthouse, she’d just shrug, say "cool," and keep scrolling on her phone. So yeah, Delilah could move ...
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