Crave: A Collection Of Wicked Desires

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Chapter 37

  The deeper he went, the wetter the earth got, soaking through his boots and chilling his ankles. Fog coiled low like a living thing, curling around trees with bark slick as oil. And that scent-thick, humid, maddening-wasn't rot or moss. It was sweet. Like sweat and cunt. He shouldn't have followed...

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