The Coochie Diaries
She smiled at Elara, a smile that held no pity, only recognition.
“The gallery leaves its mark,” Celeste said, her voice a husky scrape. She reached out and traced a wax burn on Elara’s thigh. “But not just on the skin. It gets in here.” She tapped Elara’s temple. “And here.” Her hand drifted lower, not touching, but hovering over Elara’s belly.
“Show me,” Elara whispered, the ghost of a plea. Not a command from a master, but a request between fellow travelers.
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