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πΈππππ,
πΌπ πππππ π‘π ππππ‘πππ‘ π¦ππ’, πΌ ππππππ π‘π πππ π π¦ππ’—π‘π πππ£π π¦ππ’ π’π. πΉππ π¦ππππ πΌ’π£π ππππ π‘ππππππ‘ππ ππππ€πππ ππππ‘βππ πππ ππ π‘ππ’πβπππ π¦ππ’, πππππππ πππππ ππππ π¦ππ’ π‘βππ‘ π βππ’ππ ππ ππππ, πππ ππππ€πππ π¦ππ’ πππ£π βππ πππ ππ‘. πΌπ πππππ πππ π‘βππ π‘π π€πππ π‘βππ’πβ, πΌ ππ’π π‘ π€πππ‘ ππ¦ π‘π’ππ.
π΅π’π‘ πππ€ πΌ’π ππππ, π·ππππ¦, πππ πΌ’π ππππππ πππ π¦ππ’. π πππππππ π‘βπ πππππ π€π ππππ¦ππ ππ βππβ π πβπππ? ππ’ππ πππ ππππ€π π’π πππ€, π π π‘βππ πππ’ππ π€πππ ππ ππ ππ πππ‘πππππ¦ πππ€ πππ£ππ, πππ πΌ βπππ π¦ππ’’ππ πππππ¦. πΌ’ππ π π‘πππ π¦ππ’π βπππππππ π , πππ π‘βππ π€βππ π¦ππ’’ππ πππππ π€ππ‘β πππ‘βπππ πππ ππ πππ, πΌ’ππ π π‘πππ π¦ππ’. π΄ππ‘ππ πππ, ππ‘’π ππππ, πππ’π‘ π¦ππ’ π‘βπππ?
πππ’ π‘βπππ πΌ’π π‘βπ ππππ π‘ππ, π€βππ πππ πΌ’π£π ππ£ππ ππππ ππ ππππππ π¦ππ’ ππππ π‘βπ π‘ππ’π π£ππππππ. π΄ππ π‘βππ π‘πππ ππ ππ πππππππππ‘.
π ππππ¦? πππ‘… πΊπ.
π π’π‘βπππ π ππ¦ π¦ππ’ππ , π π¦πππ
π π’π‘βπππ π πΏππ‘π‘πππ ππ π‘βπ ππππ π‘ ππππ ππ π‘βπ πΆπππ‘ππ£π ππππ‘ππππ π πππππ , π€βππβ ππ’π π‘ ππ ππππ ππ πππππ. π π’π‘βπππ π πΏππ‘π‘πππ ππ π ππππ¦ ππ’πππ¦ πππππππ π€ππ‘β ππππ‘πππ‘ π πππ πππππππ πππ¦ ππππ π‘πππππππππ. πππππππ π€πππππππ πππππ’ππ ππ’ππππ’π ππππ πππ‘, ππ₯ππππππ‘ π ππ₯π’ππ ππππ‘πππ‘, ππ’πππ¦πππ, πβπ¦π ππππ π£πππππππ, π πππππππ, ππππ π ππ₯, π π€ππππππ, ππππππ’πππ‘πππ, βπ’ππππππ‘πππ, πππππππππ π‘π ππππ, πππ πππππππππ π‘π ππ’ππππ. πβππ π πππππ πππ‘π ππππππ π€ππ‘β πππβ πππ π πππ ππππ.
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“You’ve been on the shelf for a few years now, but I’m back to claim you and won’t be stopping until you’re a dripping, sloppy mess at my feet.”
My heart skips a beat with his tempting words. They drag me back to a time where I would have dropped to my knees and volunteered myself to be the mess he wants me to be—and done so happily.
Except, I’ve changed. My hands come up and shove at his chest, noting the texture of leather beneath my palms. He allows it, falling back a step.
“Is that what you want, Ryker? Is that what it’ll take to make this all go away? If we fuck, will you be able to move on? One last trick and we can both go our own ways.” I tame the anger from my voice, aiming for rational instead with my next words. “You’re a free man, Ryker. You can start the life you should have had. Do it. Don’t waste more of your time on me. Let’s move on.” I swallow before adding, “High school was fun, but we’re long past that stage in our lives.”
Silence. Not the he-doesn’t-want-to-say-anything silence. No—the deadly, I’m-ready-to-fuck-you-up silence instead, but I hold firm, biting down on my bottom lip to avoid disclosing how he makes my legs go weak with the desire to respond to his authority.
Right when I think I’ve won, my head thumps on the wall behind me, and the breath I do have gets trapped in my lungs as his grip clamps down tightly on my throat. White spots decorate my eyes instantly and my hands fly up to his, nails scratching at his skin to get free.
“Listen to me, doll. You do not make the decisions here. You do not deem when we’re done. You. Are. Mine. You have been since the first day you walked into high school, and you can thank—” He breaks off, continuing to keep his secrets to himself. “We’re not finished until I say we are.”
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Read The First Chapter HERE!
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M.L. Philpitt is Canadian-born and raised, and enjoys representing Canada within her novels. As a Ravenclaw, she loves education, having undergraduate degrees in English Literature and Sociology, a certificate in Autism and Behavioural Sciences, and a MA in Counselling Psychology.
She writes in various romance new adult genres including paranormal, fantasy, dark romance, and contemporary. She has lots of crazy trapped in her head for readers to enjoy.
When M.L. Philpitt isn’t making up stories, she’s devouring those imagined by other authors. Her love of reading began when she was a young child and only grew with age. She enjoys many genres, as reflected in her writing preferences.
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