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You’re not to go. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. ‘Maybe not,’ Gerald conceded, ‘but I’m damned if I herald my approach with a lot of unnecessary blundering about in the dark. But not once in these ten years had they borne blossom or fruit. All they left it was the moon and stars. She moaned as his hands explored her body, fingers crushing against her panties under her skirt.
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