“She lunged for the scythe, grabbed its handle, and sprinted the short distance to where the whore knelt. By God, she’d cut the bitch in two before she let her have him. Alan was too fast. He leaped in front of Gràinne, protecting her, catching Sorcha’s wrist as she began to swing the long, curved blade, and squeezing tight. Sorcha’s fingers opened, and the scythe clattered to the floor. “I hate you,” Sorcha hissed. She tried to wrench away, but he pinned her body against his. His solid rod pres...sed against her belly. The cock that was hard for a whore. Not for her. “Let me go!” Sorcha cried, struggling, clawing at him. “Damn you! I hate you!” “No,” he growled into her hair. “You don’t hate me, you damned little fool.” “I do,” she sobbed. “You and your bloody whore.” “She’s not my whore,” Alan rasped, still holding her tightly. “She’s Cam’s.” “What?” It made no sense. She twisted and writhed, trying to escape his iron grip. “Let me go, I said.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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