Go on, murderer." Roja leaned in toward Brant. "Go on, murder me in my sleep."Brant's face twisted up in fear and hate. He threw himself artlessly at ...oja, knife raised high, voicing an inarticulate scream of rage. Roja's right hand flew out like an arrow, and grabbed Brant by the throat. He began to squeeze. Brant dropped the knife and his good hand went up around Roja's wrist, the other flopped against it uselessly. Roja squeezed harder. In a long moment, it was all over. He held Brant at. Marylou, moaning for him. Marylou. Who would never own anything firsthand store bought or that hadn’t been worn to the grave by women before her. In, hold, swivel hips, listening for the sound of the sigh, retreat, then dig deep again. Marylou. Who would be put in an early grave herself if her pappy found she had been fucking with one of the Owen boys. Marylou. More rapid stroking, pelvises grinding together. Marylou. Who was giving herself to him without reservation. Ahhhhh. Marylou! Well, he. More

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