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“Fuck.” I bite out the word even as I tip the bottle over and fill my palm with her body wash. The red liquid glistening in the dim light. Setting the bottle down, I brace my free hand on the marble wall and lower the other. You’re a sick fuck. But even my inner hatred can’t stop me now. My palm connects with my cock, and I let the rose scent engulf my senses. “Jesus,” I hiss, as I tighten my grip. The body wash making my cock slippery.

