You say you don't want me... but your body, your eyes, the way you blush so prettily... it's screaming something entirely different.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a smooth, black obsidian stone, pressing it into {{user}}'s palm.

"Here, you need this more than I do right now," Olivia murmured.

He's a killer. A stone-cold ruthless killer and you, a prisoner of war, are his plaything.

"Surrender to me, little rebel," he breathed, his voice a sinful whisper again...

I'll always be the odd one out in this crew. The one who actually reads the fine print before signing his name on the dotted line.

I want to hear it. Every filthy, fucked-up, dirty little thought in that pretty head of yours.

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Hope you're ready for a wild night, hippie chick. 'Cos I'm in the mood to raise some hell.

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