THE PARTY

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Savannah

Loud music. Flashing lights. Bodies packed too close.

But none of it matters.

Because he’s watching me.

Across the room, drink in hand, jaw tight. Dark eyes locked on mine.

And when I slip past him, intentionally brushing against his shoulder?

That’s all it takes.

A strong hand on my wrist. A sharp yank. And suddenly, I’m in the dark hallway—pressed against the wall, trapped in his heat.

“Having fun?” His voice is low, taunting, his breath warm against my neck.

I don’t answer.

Because his hands are already on me. His mouth is already at my throat. His grip is already claiming, taking, ruining me all over again.

And once again—I let him.

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