Off The Ice
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His hand snaps around my wrist, yanking me into a shadowed room. The door slams shut—trapping us. My back hits the wall, breath ragged, as Tyler looms over me: chest heaving, eyes dark with a feral heat I can’t name.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, his hand sliding to my waist—slow, deliberate, possessive despite the restraint. “Is Mark really the sweetest? Or did you say that just to provoke me?”
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“Tell me,” he murmurs, his hand sliding to my waist—slow, deliberate, possessive despite the restraint. “Is Mark really the sweetest? Or did you say that just to provoke me?”
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