©Novel Buddy
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... obvious hunger—taking in her stretch marks, the slight sag of her breasts, the soft pouch of her belly, the dark hair between her legs that was matted with her own arousal.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "Forty-six years old. Stretch marks from carrying a kid. Hairy. Sweaty. Your body showing every single year you’ve lived."
Each word was like a knife, cutting into her already fragile sense of self-worth.
Hana’s lips trembled, fresh tears welling up ...
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