Jericho
he suggested lowly and the sound of his rumbling voice shot straight between my legs as if it were a poison arrow impaling its target.
My mouth became drier than a city suffering from a drought and, when I tried to swallow, it felt like shoving razor blades down my throat. That was why, when I spoke, I sounded like a fifty-year-old chain smoker with a rasp so deep people would mistake me for a man, "What fun would that be?"
I flinched at the sound and then proceeded to cringe with embarrassment when Jericho eyed me from his peripheral.
Bab Populer