Leandra Parsons

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“Fuck, Gem, you taste perfect,” he rasped between delicious swipes of his tongue. I couldn’t reply, slave to the sensations the kiss evoked in me. After days of cold, I felt warm. He lowered me on the bench, never stopping the kiss as he bent over me. I clung to his neck, wrapped my legs around his middle as he knelt before me.
Twisted Hearts (The Camorra Chronicles, #5)
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