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Summary
She remembers the sight of Mark between her legs, the way she gripped him by the hair and held him there, wordlessly begging him not to stop. But she can’t get the image of Helly out of her head. Helly with her clothes askew, lips parted, messy hair framing her face—wild and uninhibited like she always is, like Helena only got to be the few days she stepped into her shoes and tried to walk into Mark’s heart.
Helena wants.
