Hannah Mostyn

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“Why do I—” “It’ll muffle the screams. We can’t afford any more noise complaints.” I scoff. “I don’t scream.” He sweeps my hair away from my face, pressing his mouth against the shell of my ear, his breath making the hairs on my neck rise. “You will when I’m inside of you.”
The Worst Kind of Promise (Riverside Reapers #2)
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