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“I’m sorry if I’ve ever hurt you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for letting you.” Her breasts press into my chest, warm and soft. “Or maybe I’m not. Because without pain, there is no you.”
“I’ll own you, Blake.” He shortens my name, his free hand comes up, and he trails a finger down my neck over my racing pulse, making my body break out in goose bumps. “And I think that’s exactly what you want.”
― The Ritual
― The Ritual
Mary’s 2025 Year in Books
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