Isabelle MacLeod

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My eyes dipped to her mouth. The heat from my gut spread to my stomach. She wore the same lipstick from the exhibition. Bold, red, and seductive, like a siren’s call amidst a sea of tranquil calm. I wanted to rub my thumb across her bottom lip and smear her perfect lipstick until she was nothing more than a beautiful mess. To peel back the composed mask and see the ugliness underneath.
King of Wrath (Kings of Sin, #1)
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