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... f skin slapping against skin, a rhythm I love more than any hymn ever sung in a cathedral.

I rode her, not with the frantic energy of a novice, but with the practiced, rhythmic grace of a goddess claiming her property. My hips rose and fell, my breasts bouncing with each powerful descent.

Vespera was a beast. Once the permission was given—once the ’Messenger’ had commanded her to prove herself—the shy, devoted acolyte vanished, and in her place was a dark elf driven by a religiou ...

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