Nola Christian

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She whimpers, the anticipation of her falling like a tiny explosion of delight deep in my chest. Her honied whispers turn to cries, her knees locking as the waves of her orgasm begin to pull her under. I don’t let up because I can’t touch enough, kiss enough, be enough. I want to taste every inch of her silky skin. Make her see that she was made for me.
The Interview (The Whittingtons, #1)
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