Stephany Mora

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His hands wrap around my body, fingers so rough, I imagine bruises forming on my skin. His handprints, marring me. I wish they were brands, claiming me as his forever. Our kiss grows more frantic, my fingers gripping his hair. It feels like we’re fighting with our lips, a battle we’re both too afraid to wage with words.
Prince of the Arena (Beasts of the Briar, #1.5)
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