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Not Sammy.
Samuel.
It’s not the first time I’ve heard her say it. Sure, I heard it earlier when her orgasm was ripping through her body, but that wasn’t the first time.
Like a flash of lightning to my memory, I remember her saying it one other time.
When we said our vows.
In that little chapel in Las Vegas.
She looked me in the eye and whispered, “I, Freedom Rayne, take you, Samuel Grayson, to be my husband.”
It was the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
