Hannah Cunningham

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His hand comes up and cradles my face. “You’re a desperate whore when you want it,” he says. The bottom falls out of my stomach, and at the same time, my body is flooded with arousal so strong, I want to whimper. “What…did you call me?” I whisper. He digs his fingers into my hair. “Whore. My whore.”
Deacon (The Sovereign Mountain, #3)
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