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... til they stiffened, nails dragging down my abs. She lathered my shoulders, the column of my throat, then finally wrapped both slick hands around my cock. It twitched, already stirring.

"Still trying to get hard after everything we did to you?" she teased, stroking lazily. "Greedy boy."

I slid my hands up her waist and cupped her heavy tits, squeezing until water spilled over my knuckles. "Your fault for being naked and perfect."

She laughed, low and filthy, and leaned in ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

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