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I’m not only riveted by her. I’m possessed by a need to have her. And she must be mine.
I’d love nothing more than to be consumed by her words, no matter how they greet me. Whether it’s through those red-stained lips or from her delicate hands. I want to know every facet of her, every centimeter of her—mind, body, and soul.
For now, I am as bound to my husband as he is bound to a poker chip.
If Genevieve is my end, then I open the door to death with no hesitation.
“Because you possess my lungs, as you do my heart, Genevieve. And I intend to take yours for myself,”
“I would dare to do so with your husband right next to us, forced to watch while I lick you and fuck you. And neither of you could do a damn thing about it.”
A mad woman, he has made me. But if this is madness, I don’t ever want to be sane.
How could Ronaldo rule hell if he makes me see heaven?
What is patience when I am feral with the need to be filled?
“My cum will leak down your thighs while you’re dancing with your husband. If you dare to wipe it away, I’ll expose you in front of everyone and make him swallow it,” he threatens, his tone unyielding and savage.
There is no end in sight for me or the falls; we will drown anyone who dares stand beneath us.

