Allan Malcolmson

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“I like that you’re inexperienced.” They bite her earlobe, not gently. Pain sings through her like an aphrodisiac freshly imbibed. “You came to me nearly a virgin, and what a delight it has been to teach you about your own responses. All taut strings, all mine to pluck, the gorgeous instrument of you.” Her toes curl. The muscles in her thighs tense.
Shall Machines Divide the Earth (Machine Mandate, #3)
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