The lovemaking that afternoon was a sacred celebration of survival, truth, and absolute possession. Lorenzo stripped Isla’s clothes away with agonizing slowness, his mouth worshipping every inch of her skin as if she were a goddess carved of silk and flame. He kissed the hollow of her throat, lingering against the cold platinum chain of the Falcone Blood Ruby, before tasting the swell of her breasts, the delicate curve of…
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