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... with the mess he'd just cleaned from her—his lips slick, chin wet, the taste of another man thick on his tongue. He knelt, hands folded in his lap, cock hard and twitching beneath his soiled robe. He didn't speak.

Because she hadn't told him to.

Because Yan Zhuo hadn't told him to.

Xue Lan stirred.

Her thighs shifted slightly, sticky with heat, her folds glistening clean now—but still open. Still twitching. Her hips lifted off the sheets almost instinctively, as i ...

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