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The mother’s forearms were white-knuckled on the stone edge, every muscle locked to hold herself together against what was coming through from behind.
Her body moved with him completely — chest swaying forward with each drive, knees scraping the pool’s rim, the water around her rippling outward in small waves that broke against the tile like a clock keeping time for something too old to name.
Her chest hung over the edge, heavy with milk, those thick dark ...
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