“Turner said you were a degenerate gambler.”
Akers didn’t know much about fabric, or fashion, but he would put ten to one that the lacy garment he had just pulled over Charisse’s head cost over a hundred bucks.
He kissed Charisse on the forehead and leaned his elbow on his stereo remote to put Sugar’s Copper Blue on shuffle.
His hand ran down her thigh, je…
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