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“If your fiancé knew how feral you are, he’d demand a refund,” he growls.
He’d be gentle at first. Careful. I’m sure of it. That’s how he was with me in the car. But then he’d turn impatient. Demanding. It’s that contrast in him that makes me weak in the knees.
I want you, and I’m taking you. It’s not a question. It’s a fucking statement.
I’m not going to celebrate you for sacrificing yourself anymore.

