He could smell the crisp linen of his chef’s whites that sat over the scent of the heat of his skin. He swallowed the moan that threatened to expose...the effect it had on his cock. “Get your own fucking eggs.” He growled and made to leave, stilled only by the iron on iron clatter of the skillet hitting the cooker, and the hand that grasped his shoulder and pushed him back down onto his seat. “Take your hands off me De-Roche, I’m not here to service you or to feed you.” Eli hissed out slowly as. . he does bit parts like me" Sandy laughed as she jotted the name down."Burns? How ironic! Who else, a Mr. Mustard maybe?" Hammond blurted out the next name, he did not appreciate the humour of the moment; his cock maintaining its burning erection, his noosed balls bright red and numbing in stark contrast."Seb Monroe ... he and Burns cut her ... he was the cruellest though." Sandy's hand stopped dead and she drew breath as a she dwelt on the name, a look of frustration filling her face as she. More

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