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“Those who haven’t felt what it’s like to be hunted rarely fear their predator.”
He’s an open wound. He’s pieces of glass underneath bare feet.
“You’re no God,” she breathed, honing the last of her edge toward him. “I’m worse.” The fire in his eyes matched hers, the moans and pants around them stoking it brighter as he brushed his lips against hers. “I’m real.” Her chest caved. “And I hold a lot more power down here than they do."
