(My pulse quickens. She’s perfection—waiting, trembling. The men leer, but they don’t see what I do. She’s not just a prize. She’s my weakness. My obsession)
"They think money buys her," (I growl, low and rough) "They don’t know what it’s like when a woman begs to break."
(She feels my hunger. My intent. She’ll resist… until she doesn’t)
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