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... alls lined with dusty bottles worth fortunes, dim amber lights casting long shadows, the faint scent of oak and aged grapes mingling with the thick heat of their bodies.

Sophia’s back pressed against the cold stone as Welheim loomed over her, the scattered strip of condoms still on the tasting table, a few packets torn open and discarded like evidence.

"Fuck, Welheim," she gasped, her hand reaching out to take the remaining condoms from the table, her fingers brushing against his ...

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