THE CHANGING ROOM

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Savannah

This is a mistake.

A big, reckless mistake.

But when I push open the door to the empty changing room, I already know—I want him to follow.

And of course, he does.

The lock clicks. I barely have time to turn before Kian grabs me.

Lifts me.

Slams me against the mirror.

“This,” he growls against my lips, “is what you do to me.”

I can’t think. I can’t breathe.

Not when his hands are everywhere.

Not when my nails are digging into his skin.

Not when his teeth scrape down my neck, and I feel the bruises he’s leaving behind—like a silent, unspoken claim.

We don’t speak. We don’t slow down.

We just lose ourselves.

Again. And again. And again.

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