Emily's Coin Torment: 40 Rounds of Pure Hell
I slid closer, brushed your arm, cooed, “Rough day, huh? I’ve got just the thing to melt that stress away.” You were putty—a drooling, desperate fool hanging on my every word. Then I held out my glass, tilted my head all sweet, and whispered, “Here, take a sip of this—it’ll fix you right up.”
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