Meet Cassandra, the woman in the pink shirt, a fiery redhead with curves that could make a saint sin. She’s a force to be reckoned with, a wildcat in the bedroom. Then there’s Marcus, the man in the black shirt, a dark-haired, tattooed bad boy with a reputation that precedes him. He’s a storm waiting to happen. When these two collide, sparks fly, and the night becomes a dance of desire and dominance.
Cassandra: I see you, Marcus. You can’t hide that hunger in your eyes.
Marcus: You’re playing with fire, Cassandra.
Cassandra: I love the burn. Show me what you’ve got.
Marcus: You asked for it.
Cassandra: I did. Now, take me.
Marcus: With pleasure.
Cassandra: Harder, Marcus. Make me feel it.
Marcus: You’re a wild one, aren’t you?
Cassandra: The wildest. And you love it.
Marcus: I do. I fucking do.
Cassandra: Then give me more. Give me everything.
Marcus: You’re mine, Cassandra. All fucking night.
Cassandra: I’m yours. Now, make me scream your name.
Marcus: With pleasure, Cassandra. With fucking pleasure.
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