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I sat down at my desk, still feeling sore between my legs. The reminder of what I just had with Malachi was everywhere. In the way I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. In the slight ache that pulsed with every movement. In the heat that crept up my neck just thinking about his hands on me.
I tried to focus on work, pulled out my phone to check messages before diving into the day’s tasks.
The screen was still open to the book I’d been reading earlier. The censored Ch ...
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