I’m luck to have fallen upon you, Kemp. You must help me. Fancy tumbling on you just now! I’m in a devilish scrape […]
She probably had a hand-knit sweater from Ireland bearing a three-digit price tag. At one time the wool had embraced her body, flattered her breasts, and made her look downright boneable, but right now it hung on her like a thrift-shop find.
For a moment he silently scrutinised the attentive group out of his filmy blue eyes overhung by old veined lids […]
He was a prize male with the sexual aura of a massive hunk with low hangers.
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