Letters to Robin

Letters to Robin

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WpMetadataReadMatureComplete Mon, Jul 22, 20249h 18m
In the aftermath of her twin sister's tragic death, Reagan Sinclair finds herself in a never-ending battle against paralyzing panic attacks and drowning in grief. Desperate to just survive each day, Reagan's world is turned upside down when Paris unexpectedly enters her life, offering her a chance to explore a world of dominance she never knew she needed. As Reagan delves into a journey of self-discovery and passion, she must confront her suppressed emotions surrounding her sister's passing and her growing dependence on Paris. Join Reagan on a gripping adventure of love, loss, and finding the strength to heal in the face of unimaginable pain. "Why not?" I whisper against his lips, I want him closer to my body, I want it so badly it's almost painful. The sensation spreads through me like a relentless throbbing, engulfing my entire body. Paris pulls away to look at me, and his eyes are darker, deeper. I swallow at the primal desire pouring from his stare, eyes widening when he wraps his hand around my neck, his thumb stroking as it bobs. Almost instinctively, I raise my hand and put it over his, making him squeeze tighter. Paris growls low in his throat, and I close my eyes, marveling at the way every single nerve ending lights up. "Why not?" I ask again, just wishing he'd close the space between us. Just wishing he'd touch me. "No. This is wrong and I'm sorry I let it get this far. I'm older than you, love. You're so fucking young. This is......no," "I'm twenty, not seventeen, and I don't care. It doesn't matter," it's the wrong thing to say because when I open my eyes, he's shaking his head, his eyes locked on the wall near my head with an unreadable expression on his face. He removes his hand from around my throat, and the other slides slowly up my side and grips my waist, putting me more firmly against the wall. "No, Reagan," he says through clenched teeth, turning around and going to his room. I flinch at the sound of his bedroom door closing.
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"𝑳𝒆𝒊𝒂," she warned, but her voice was breathless. I smiled against her neck, rolling my hips again in a rhythm that had her trembling beneath me. "𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕?" I whispered innocently, even as I ground against her with deliberate precision. Her response was a strangled sound that might have been my name. Her hands were shaking now, one still gripping my hip while the other fisted in the couch cushion. "𝑭𝒖𝒄𝒌," she gasped, the curse torn from her lips as I continued the torturous rhythm. I could feel her losing herself completely, her careful control dissolving with each movement of my hips against hers. "𝑻𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒆," I whispered, guiding her hand between my legs where I was already slick with want. .............................................. She's impulsive, charming, and dead-set on finding her runaway sister. What she didn't plan on was working under Esme Leclair: cold, calculated, and entirely off-limits. But Paris has a way of pulling opposites together. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌.

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