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Quote by Mark Lawrence

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Prince of Thorns

In this gripping tale, a young prince named Edward is thrust into a world of intrigue and danger when he learns the truth about his parentage. As he navigates the treacherous political landscape of his kingdom, Edward must grapple with his own identity and the weight of his family's legacy. The novel delves into the complexities of morality and the human condition, offering a richly detailed and immersive reading experience. more

Author

Mark Lawrence
Mark Lawrence

Mark Lawrence, born on January 1, 1968, is a talented writer whose works span various literary genres. Known for his unique narrative style and profound thematic explorations, his writing has gained widespread recognition from readers and critics. more

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“The massage session ended with both of us soaked, covered in glittery dripping oil. I felt like a Greek salad sloppily drenched in extra virgin. But James was not going to stop. The kisses came thick and fast. And extra massages. “Lie back, wench,” he said. I lay back and stared up at him and above his head at the striped white and blue awning, which was rippling under the pounding impact of the rain. I’d almost forgotten about the rain, though it was coming down heavier than ever, a glittering silver wall, just a few feet away from us. James had decided that the most intimate p[art of my delicate self needed a delicate multi-facetted many-sided feathery back and forth up and down and sideways type of ecstatic slow-and-fast motion massage and which involved his index finger and his little finger and the palm of his hand and then his tongue, so and it began to build, and build … “You are being quite intimate, Master,” I gulped, trying to put on a dignified face and control my panting, the deepening huski¬ness of my voice, and the flood of saliva that had filled my mouth and was dribbling out of one corner. I think, given the circum¬stances, that I did quite a good job. “Really?” he glanced up at me, and then disappeared between my legs, back to work, his tongue darting, hither and thither, truly a busy little bee, harvesting honey here, there, and everywhere. “Really …” I sobbed, in a choked desperate voice, “Very ex¬tremely intimate, oh, oh, oh ... Master, Master, Pity, Master …”

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