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Οι ενημερώσεις αυτού του μενού βασίζονται στη δραστηριότητά σου. Τα δεδομένα ποθηεκυονται μόνο τοπικά (στον υπολογιστή σου) και δεν μεταβιβάζονται ποτέ σε εμάς. Μπορείς να κάνεις κλικ στους συνδέσμους αυτούς για να καθαρίσεις το ιστορικό σου ή να το απενεργοποιήσεις
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<b> The Red Thread</b><br><br><b>It started with a lingering scent. That unmistakable combination of vanilla and smoke—the perfume she only wore for me. Except, it wasn’t me she was with anymore. Three years unraveled in three seconds when I saw her stepping out of his truck, a wicked grin on her face and an outfit I knew I’d picked for her but had never seen her wear. She looked up, caught my eye, and smiled like the cat that swallowed the canary.</b><br><br><b>The message was clear: <i>I’ve moved on, and I’m not sorry about it.</i></b><br><br><b>My best friend. My girl. Together. My body boiled in a horny rage as my tumescence only grew stronger and out of my control throbbing with every racing heartbeat. All of the sudden there was no other choice in my mind. I was on a mission from that point forward, it was something darker, more unsettling then I had ever felt before.—a part of me that wanted to play the game she’d started.</b><br><br><b>The next morning, he called. Apologies dri
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