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by Carol Queen
Abby burrowed in her jeans pocket for cash. She still had at least a twenty. “There!” she said when she’d managed to fish it out. “My turn!” She fed the bill into the slot, which sucked it smoothly away . . . and the window rose again.
There was the sensual blonde, still touching herself. There was the small-breasted girl with the Marabou boa. A Latina with long, wavy hair peeked over her shoulder, and Abby could see a statuesque African American woman across the stage, looking over their way.
“Abby, when you said ‘My turn,’ what did you mean?” asked Lila in that dreamy, turned-on voice. “Do you want to play?”
Abby nodded—she would have said something too, except Lila’s lips covered hers right away, soft and wet, licking and nibbling in one of the most arousing kisses Abby had ever experienced.
“Abby,” came Daniel’s whispered voice right next to her ear, “open your eyes!”
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