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Council of War

Ainslee

I was wrong. The call of the bearskin rug was just too much for him.

It is late morning, and Rafe was finally asleep, having ravaged me, repeatedly, on the bearskin rug. I enjoy the warmth of the fire as I drowsily watch the flames.

Clever fingers tiptoe up my arm. Goosebumps rise on my sk...

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