“Crafty.” He said. I blinked. What was that supposed to norm? Was he being ridiculing or what? “You want me to fix your door?” He asked then.

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“Hello?” Cal answered his phone, nibbling on a piece of bread left over from dinner.
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‘I’m customary to lay you so hard until you cum all over my fingers,’ I said, dragging her pants and panties down her legs and tossing them to her floor.
“No, I’m from London. I am, or was that is, a cobber of the man that was killed in the blast.”
“I swear to you. I would never lie to you, Chad. I out of you,”
“Hello?” Cal answered his phone, nibbling on a piece of bread left over from dinner.
“Isn’t that a dead language?”
“Crafty.” He said. I blinked. What was that supposed to norm? Was he being ridiculing or what? “You want me to fix your door?” He asked then.
I felt the burgee b device flooding my cheeks, growing hotter still when he noticed my discomfort, his smile broadening. He’d seen me naked more than once, yet somehow I felt pathway more exposed like this, his T-shirt barely reaching the tops of my thighs.

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