‘I like to listen you talk.’ He traced his fingers slowly up and down the front of her left leg. ‘You have the cutest little accent.’ ‘Me?!�...� she gasped in mock surprise. ‘Your accent is cuter.’ He grinned mischievously up at her. ‘The Irish don’t have an accent—we’re just the only ones in the world who know how English is supposed to sound.’ She ruffled his hair playfully. He wrapped his arms around her left leg and leaned his cheek against it. He began placing slow, gentle, sweet kisses on the. It is a chilly, overcast day and you pull your supplicant's robe more tightly against your body. Locks of your crimson hair swirl around your head. The crash of the sea is so relaxing that you do not even hear War Mother Gisella approaching. "Sister Sabine," says the handsome matriarch of the order. "I thought I might find you here. The feast begins soon and your sisters would appreciate you stand for the prayer." I will join them soon, Mother," you say.You study the face of the stern woman who. More

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