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Chelsea

In the morning, Chelsea woke up on the bed. Her body itched when she stretched her arms and neck. The spot between her thighs ached a little too. To the soreness, her drowsy eyes flipped open and she was welcomed by the thick blanket that covered her body, Alastair's wrinkled white shirt that she wore, and the vibrator that saved her life on the nightstand. Abruptly, pink grew across her cheeks.

The entire night Alastair was sitting on the couch while she pleased herself with that thing. He made it seem like her moans didn't bother him at all, but she clearly noticed the bump on his pants and she didn't even know why she was glad to see him suffering. Yes, he, Alastair, the great Prince suffered. Yet, he didn't do one simple thing! He didn't dare to touch her. Because she had made it clear before that she didn't want him to touch her.

It took her three hours to finally reach her sweet spot and see the stars. It was almost dawn by then and at that time, he was the one who seemed to be
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