He'd taken his braid out, so that his thick hair spilled around him like some kind of cape. She turned on her sensible, two-inch heels and marched out. Has Jean-Claude decided to draw the line at sharing you with this many men? No, I said. His body was ripe and thick and ready, and he'd made certain that Jean-Claude's wouldn't be.
I wanted to rant at Richard, to scream and accuse. I wanted to be close enough to be secure enough to pull that trigger, and not endanger anyone else. How was work? I asked. If you can fuck it, it's not food.
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