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“Third difference,� he whispered, leaning so close that I could feel his alcohol-scented breath on my face. “I’m not pressuring you to spread your legs for me.� Rearing back, he made a point of glancing between us. “You did that all by yourself.�
And I'd do it again
That’s my girl.
“The quintessential lost boy.� Her lips grazed mine as she spoke. “Don’t worry, Peter Pan, I’ll be your Wendy.�
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