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... ing with a practiced rhythm, a lazy, sensual confidence in each step.

Her scent hit instantly.

Fuck.

A thick, nauseating mix of cheap cologne and alcohol, clinging to her skin like a second layer. It wasn't refined. It wasn't elegant. It was the kind of scent that tried too hard—an artificial, overwhelming stench that masked something rotting underneath.

But—

I had to admit.

Her skills? Not bad.

Because even as she reached for the bottle, p ...

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