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Matlab tum door lock kar sakti ho bhai bola. Me ab gusse se bhai ko boli knock kiye tum aur me jaan kar bhai se dhakka mukki karte karte unbalance ho wahi bed me gir gae aur bhai khud ko rokte rokte mere uppar aa gya.Ab mujhe bhi masti aane lagi thi.Me bhai k chhoti si chaddi ko moka dekh k niche sarka di aur woh khud ko bachane k liye meri boobs to kabhi meri kamar ko pakad k mujhe rokna chahta tha lekin ab to bhai der kiye muskil aa chuka tha.Me bhai k butts ko pakad k apni sehlane lagi thi to kabhi uske pith k uppar apni dono haatho se sehlane lagi thi.Bhai bhi bekabu ho gya tha na jane kab meri towel khul chuki thi aur meri hilne k karan bhai ka lund meri choot se ragad khane lagi thi.Me to bilkul nangi ho gae thi aur bhai bhi es moke ko miss kiye bina mujhe kiss karne laga.Hum es samay sare rishte bhool gaye the aur meri naram naram lips bhi bhai ko maze dene k liye kiss ka nasha dene lagi aur bhai meri boobs ko berahmi se dabane laga to kabhi meri boobs ko chusne laga.Me to aise. She unwound the spool of wide satin ribbon and looped it around the deep green boughs. No one could tell — no one except Suzanne — but her William had a rather naughty side. Suzanne had plans for those lengths of silky crimson. Very special plans, she thought. She found the last item in the box, pulled it out and added it to the display. A creamy white beeswax candle rose from the center of the ring. She struck a match and lit the wick. The aroma of vanilla and spices rising from the flame complimented the piney fragrance of the wreath. Adjusting a branch here and there, Suzanne nodded to herself and smiled. It was perfect. William would be so pleased. Suzanne looked out the cabin window at the gently falling snow. Already the tracks of her car heading around to the back of the cabin were disappearing in the soft powder. It was supposed to stop soon. William would have no trouble getting to the secluded cabin. She walked around the tiny cabin, opening doors, pulling out drawers and.
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I hate being snuck up on. ‘Nothing.’ I shove the empty book cart down the aisle with my foot. The creaking wheels don’t carry it far. I follow it, walking away from her. ‘You’re still mad.’ It’s not a question, more of an accusation. Her tone is incredulous. I walk faster. ‘I’m not mad.’ She follows me as I wheel the cart back toward the supply room. There are more books to be reshelved, standing in piles on the oak table. There are even more stacks of books waiting for rebinding, or page repairs. ‘I said I was sorry.’ She had said she was sorry. A dozen times. Two dozen. It didn’t change anything. ‘I’m not mad.’ I fuss with the cart, maneuvering it into the corner, a momentary bout of OCD forcing me to perfectly align the wheels with the chipped paint of the baseboard. I’m not mad. I’m furious. ‘You won’t even look at me.’ I haven’t looked at her. Defiant, I do now. She’s got that kicked puppy look that I hate. Mousy brown hair pulled into a messy topknot, her eyes red-rimmed from.

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