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... —cheeks flushed, lips swollen and parted, glasses fogged and slipping.
Sweat clung to her forehead, damp strands of dark hair sticking to her skin as her eyes, wide and glazed, begged without words.
Her hips moved on instinct—grinding slow and desperate against Cruxius, chasing friction, chasing fire.
Her panties were soaked through—barely clinging to her, transparent with wetness, outlining every plump curve of her aching slit. Her clit throbbed, starved for contact.
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