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... ll, legs half-spread, skirt wrinkled around her hips like she’d just survived a war.
Her chest was heaving, skin flushed, hair clinging to her forehead. Her phone had slipped from her hand and landed on her lap, screen tilted just enough for Peter to see the damage.
He let the silence hang—let her feel the weight of what she’d just done in a mall bathroom because he told her to.
Then, low and wicked: "Pick it up."
Her breath hitched.
"Wha—"
"You he ...
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