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Stop.

her.
drenched in adulation
is she ready?
teeth graze her neck,
fingers rough against her porcelain skin
a soft moan escapes
her slightly parted lips
back arched, he tugs at her jeans
she’s not ready.
 
stop.
 
he won’t.
 
him.
flooded with discomposure
he wants her.
rubbing her thighs, gripping her hips
ignoring her cries
she pleads; he thrusts
she begs; he’s almost done
he’s had her.
 
stop.
 
he wouldn’t.
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