Rylee

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His thumb presses over my windpipe, straining my breath, making my mind stop spinning and instead holding me right here. “You want death?” he grits out, his challenge lashing against my face and spreading heat with each hit. “I’m your fucking death. I will consume you so thoroughly there won’t be a wish for any end, because no end will release you from me.”
Gold (The Plated Prisoner, #5)
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