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... He wasn’t supposed to be here anyway.
But it wasn’t that fact that made me kick him through the curb.
Or that his pheromones stunk like rotten trash.
No.
I pushed him out the door in such a hurry and passion for one reason only.
He was going to die if he remained wrapped around me like a Velcro child.
I have never smelled Emiliano so angry.
His scent was burning through my lungs, making my throat ache. And ...
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