It was even more seriously fucked because I didn’t care. I wanted her. I wanted her worse than I’d ever wanted anythin’ in my life, even my first Harley that I’d saved for startin’ when I was eight years old and first saw a bike in one of my uncle’s car magazines. I didn’t care that she was a little girl. If I was being honest, it was hot as fuck that she was so young, so fresh, like a blank wall in front of a graffiti artist, I wanted to stripe her in paint, draw her up in anarchy. I wanted to be the one to fuck her that first time, her blood on my cock and her cries in my mouth as I claimed
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