Simran Nagpal

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My eyes trail down to how his expensive black shirt stretches taut across his broad shoulders. The sleeves rolled up to his elbows show off his strong forearms decorated in dark ink. There’s no denying he has good hands—the kind every woman wants to grab her by the throat and work her into a frenzy. Those hands can be my undoing, and I’ll gladly beg for more. 
Any Means Necessary
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