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“Mmm,” he murmurs, releasing his digit with a pop. “You taste like…” “Like what?” He smirks. “Like sin, baby.”
When you wear that skirt, I’m tempted to haul you into a supply closet and taste you again. But this time, with my face between your legs instead of my fingers.
swear to God, Margo, I have the urge to kill whoever touches you. I don’t give a flying fuck if they’re a friend, because all that matters is how I can possess you. My touch. My words. You’re mine.”
“I don’t want to pull your strings, baby. I want to cut them.”
“You might think so, little lamb, but you’re mine. No one else’s. Stop fucking testing me.”