I know he was a sadistic bastard. Jean-Claude was all black fur and velvet against white skin. I was so cold that my muscles were beginning to ache from it. To go from having deprived myself of even a caress to the sensation of him pushing his way inside my body was overwhelming.
People you've just picked up, and have them like sleep over, be at the breakfast table in the morning? Yes, he said, and I understood the look on his face now; it was a challenge. He was literally building a deeper binding on the foundation of sex. Either way you cut it, I was so screwed. God, Zerbrowski, what do you think I'm about to do? I don't know.
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