My heart is beating in time with the pulsing need in my sex as I root through the box for the lacy bits I seek. Christian is always seductive, sensual but today he’s gone out of his way to tease and hike up my desire – I’m ravenously ready.
For a moment I wonder what to do about the panties, Christian’s avaricious fingers tore right through them under the dinner table, there’s no point in keeping them on. I make a mental note to always buy two pairs of panties with every set of lingerie I purchase as I hook my thumbs underneath and slip them off. I reach for the beautiful bra, giggling to myself – such a waste; I probably won’t keep it on for very long.
I fasten the garter around my hips and as I bend to slip the silk stocking over my toes I catch sight of the perfect red hand shape on my rump in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors of the closet doors in front of the bed. The image darts straight to my core and again I have to bite my lip to stop my impatient moan from escaping. A hot flush races over my skin, almost matching the hot pink of the handprint.
Just as my fumbling, hurried fingers clip the last slide in place and I run my hands from my ankle, along my leg to smooth the stocking I feel Christian’s presence behind me. From my vantage point I can only see his sexy naked feet peeking from beneath the black tuxedo slacks, I blush deeper thinking of the view he must have of me, pantyless and bent over like this.
The admiring sound he makes can only be described as a feral growl, “stay as you are,” his masculine, commanding rasp almost has me convulsing on the spot. His hands bracket my hips; firmly he pulls them further back as he grinds himself into my behind. “Fuck,” he hisses, “so beautiful, so hot.”
“Please Christian,” I raise my head, begging already. Looking at him in the mirror as he stands behind me I catch the hunger that flares in his eyes as well as the image of the two of us in this sexy pose and I nearly lose my breath.
Holy shit that’s hot!
I’m transfixed, eyes glued to our reflection I watch him bow over me as he runs a flat palm from my neck right along my spine. I feel his body heat soaking into me, the ripple of his stomach muscles as he moves, visible in the open line of his unbuttoned dress shirt. His hand comes to rest on the handprint, like he’s confirming it’s his own. A devilish smile curls his mouth before he gently caresses it, sending hot shivers rocketing through me.
Again his hand glides up my back, this time fisting in my hair as he pulls me up and against him, almost aggressively. With my back fused to his front, he regards me in the mirror, his darkened gaze roaming languidly as I slot my arms around his neck.
“Do you like the mirror Mrs Grey?” the hoarse whisper next to my ear suggests that he too, is a fan. One arm is locked around my waist, securing me to him and the other is trailing slow, fingertip-circles over my belly, not going anywhere near where I want them to go.
My head rolls back onto his shoulder, my eyes almost flickering closed, lids heavy with desire, “mmhh,” I mewl my affirmation.
He chuckles quietly, “look at us baby,” the sharp spike of pain that connects my nipple to my sex makes my eyes fly open as Christian pinches the straining bud. I gasp and shudder embarrassingly against him.
“So eager Mrs Grey, so responsive,” he teases, “shall I make you come like this?” he’s rolling my peak between his thumb and forefinger, a leisurely squeeze and roll through the lace of the bra – just enough to drive me wild but not enough to get me off.
“Please,” I manage past my panting breaths. Any which way, I don’t care as long as you do!
Watching him – us is unspeakably erotic; my desire pooling, building, heaving I decide to help things along. He senses the shift in my arms that I want to slip from their hold so I can touch him but his growling order stops me, “keep still baby, if you move I stop.”
I whimper and re-join my hands behind his neck, thrusting my breasts forward.
“I want you too baby, I just want to play a bit, enjoy this moment with my wife.” Instead of soothing me the way he draws out the word wife sends lashings of fire through my veins, my stomach muscles already starting to quiver in anticipation of my brewing release.
“Look at your breasts Anastasia,” he cups one breast from the bottom, holding it for our mutual appreciation. The balcony bra retains my breasts in a perfect display, the very low cut of the demi cups only just covering my puckering areola. His voice is turning huskier, his look darker as he brushes his thumb over the dark raring point.
This time we gasp together, sucking in a fervent breath before Christian spins me around, crushing his mouth to mine. The harsh assault steals all reason, only awareness of blazing sensation remains; it feels like his hands are everywhere at once.
I push off his shirt and roughly undo his belt, my fingers suddenly deft in their eagerness. I slide my hands down the sides of his torso, beneath the elastic of his boxers to get rid of both undies and pants in one go. He steps out of his slacks and I grip him firmly, working my fist down the length of him. When he inhales against my vigorous attack I trace the seal of his mouth with my tongue.
Bodies joined, hungry sounds escaping, he starts walking us back, up against the edge of the bed. I break away; placing both palms on his chest I push so he topples backwards onto the covers. He laughs at my audacity, the throaty rumble is a shockingly sexy sound so I follow, crawling up to straddle him.
In a surprise move he sits up, holding my hips in place, “so brazen Mrs Grey but I hope you know you’re not in charge right now.” Even though his eyes are smiling they’re also scorching with his unguarded want, clearly he has a plan for our first wedded union. I pout and bat my lashes but truthfully, I’m eager to be driven to passion by his expert steering. “Turn around baby.”
I swivel and sit on his lap; my legs tucked back, knees planted on either side of his thighs, facing the mirror once more. His plan is suddenly crystal clear, I’m completely open to him, legs spread wide. Like this, both of his hands are free to touch and caress wherever he wants. His erection, currently hot and rigid between the cheeks of my behind, ready to push through my wet folds and we can watch it all, together.
I’m grateful that he seems to have reached the edge of his control as he lifts my hips and brings me down, his hips shoving up to fill me with all of his hard length – finally letting me feel the delicious stretch my sex has been aching for.
He grunts, his teeth bared as if in pain as he fights to hold off his release, keeping me still. I groan in pleasure, one hand finding a grip on his thigh while the other rakes through his hair.
His hand snakes down, finding the sensitive heart in my slick mound his fingers start to circle there, the pressure perfect. “Fuck Ana, you’re so tight, so wet. Move baby, push up with your knees.” He growls though his gritted teeth as his other hand finds my breast. Pulling the bra cup down he tweaks my nipple, echoing the phenomenal pleasure down below.
I don’t need to be asked twice, flexing my quads I drive up, to his very tip before forcing myself down, finding that sensational grind and friction that starts the inevitable spiral resulting from this much stunning stimulation.
Watching him touching me, filling me has us unravelling rapidly, “come baby, come now!” he demands, his clever fingers increasing their fantastic rhythm, matching the increasing speed of my strokes up and down his ever hardening shaft perfectly.
I fall hard, spectacularly as the coiled tension releases like a cracked whip in a blinding shudder that’s intensified by Christian’s vicious pulsing inside me, the aftershocks of our shared orgasm prolonging my gratification. Christian pants into my neck, dropping tender, out-of-breath kisses behind my ear as we float back to our senses.
“That (kiss) was (kiss) incredible (kiss).” He pulls us to lie down then rolls so we’re spooning.
Our chests are heaving in tandem, drawing precious breath to steady our hearts as I lie overtaken but content in his strong embrace.
He’s right, that was, well…. mind-blowing!
An engulfing need to confirm the words of our love washes over me and I turn, almost frantic with urgency, “I love you Christian, so very much, so completely. Please tell me you know!” The plea smacks of desperation, a desire that’s as deep and powerful as the need we feel to constantly consummate our union.
His arms around me draw tighter, crushing me to him, “I know baby…. Hush, I know.” His mumblings have a veneration to them, proof that he’s as profoundly affected as me. I bury my face in the curve of his neck, his unique Christian scent soothing me.
“I love you too, more than I can ever say. I’m so…” he searches for the right word, “relieved you’re mine again.”
It takes every ounce of my self-control not to apologize once more; instead I nuzzle closer, sighing with absolute pleasure.
Christian kisses my hair, the atmosphere around us still thick with emotion and silently we both choose to allow it to immerse us. The last few days have been a bit of a whirlwind, I expect us to fall asleep but I’m oddly energised in spite of our vigorous lovemaking.
Before long Christian’s low voice murmurs in my ear, “I have something for you baby,” he’s stroking the length of my arm in gentle sweeps, the tips of his fingers only just touching my skin.
I giggle, “I bet you do,” I drag my head back, resting it on the pillow beside him so I can stare into his gorgeous eyes as I walk my fingers down his chest, toward his lap.
“Mmhh,” he groans then gifts me with a cheeky smirk, “that too but I wanted to give you something special tonight, are you up to coming outside with me?” he takes my meandering fingers, bending all but one then takes it in his mouth to suck, his luscious mouth and slick tongue laving my finger, vividly reminding me of the sensational skills his master tongue possesses.
I’m intrigued; he couldn’t possibly top the day we just had.
I bite my lip, caught up in his stare as his look reels me in; that familiar, irresistible pull – much like gravity, isn’t something I can or want to fight. It always surprises me though – just how much I’m bound to him, how with a solitary look or well-placed word he can reduce me to a single pinpoint of wild, compelling need. Even the thought of being with him is enough to starts a delicious rush of blood to my wanton sex. That, coupled with his beautiful, romantic spirit he seems to be a force – and a wonderful freak of nature.
I smile, no beam at him, feeling the pinch of the strained muscles in my cheeks – I’ve almost smiled my head off today. “I’d love to Mr Grey; I want to be wherever you are.”
At my endearing words the slate in his gaze turns blacker as he swaps my finger for my mouth, first freeing my lip from my teeth before pushing his way inside, licking at me like I’m a decadent morsel. For a second I think the gift can wait but he stops, a childlike excitement overtaking him. “Come baby, let’s get your robe.”
It’s always easy to be swept up in the moment when he’s like this, his gifts always generous and thoughtful if not a little over the top. I follow him, padding on the soft carpet to the closet that he opens. The monogrammed Bellagio robes are, like the hotel, lavish. They’re made with velvety soft, organic bamboo viscose that makes terry cloth seem plain by comparison, the creamy colour rich and reminiscent of a cloud.
He watches me undo my bra and the clips of the garter; a wistful look joins the naughty grin on his face when I catch him staring, “what?” I can’t quite make out his expression but I find myself answering his smile.
“I fully intended to enjoy taking every last bit of that off you,” his eyes indicate the lingerie, “but as usual, I couldn’t contain myself around you.” He rests his forehead against mine; rubbing my upper arms, “see what you do to me?”
Oh I love, love, love shaking that tightly reined control of his!
My arms reach behind him, finding the deliciously firm curves of his buttocks I feel reckless and playful when I squeeze, pressing up against him. “And I can’t wait to do it again.” I wink just before the unexpected scarlet flush flares across my skin – I’m not usually this audacious.
He laughs at my brazen arrogance and shakes his head as he holds up the robe for me. I slip into it, feeling like I’m being comforted and coddled by the fluffy fabric.
Looking down at me he takes my hand, his besotted grin the best thing I’ve ever seen. He leads me to the opulent lounge where thick candles are dotted and lit, gently glowing in what looks like a path leading somewhere. Some are on the floor, some placed on tables but they’re all paired in a distinct ribbon that forms a definite trail.
Who did this, when?
As if he heard my thought he answers, “James has been very useful but he’s gone home now; even Taylor has the night off.”
Mmmhhh, just me and my husband with no distractions….
“It’s lovely,” I breathe seeing the candle way continuing through the glass French doors that lead to the patio. Christian opens the framed doors, allowing me to walk into a wonderland of candles and flowers. The whirlpool is swirling invitingly, the heat rising off it seductive, curling like smoke and filling the courtyard with a dreamy fog. The rose petals on the stone tiles are red, the hues varying from a gentle blush to a deep blood.
Next to the whirlpool is a low table, laden with fruit, melted chocolate and champagne chilling in an ice bucket. Christian picks up a small remote control; a single button pipes music from hidden speakers, softly filling my ears and the enclosure. It’s a song by Dionne Warwick, tailor made for this moment – I’ll never love this way again.
Could this be any more romantic?
In three long, sinuous strides he’s standing in front of me, the hungry look back in place, softened only by the inciting, friendly slant of his mouth. He searches my face for approval and I readily give it to him, my eyes sparkling with unadulterated joy.
“I believe I have something that belongs to you Mrs Grey.” He murmurs; a hint of mischief in his low timbre. From the pocket of his robe he produces a small box, no logo, no distinct features that give away any clues to the contents.
Apart from my heart, what can he have that belongs to me?
I smile but my brow knits into a question as I tilt my head in curiosity. He takes my hand and places the box on my palm then kisses the frown between my brows, his gaze still mysterious.
My eyes flick to the box then back up to him. What is it? I wonder as I lift the lid, my heart and belly fluttering excitedly. I’m winded, dropping the lid as my hand flies to the base of my neck – astounded. It’s lying coiled around a little velvet island and held into place with tiny velvet finger cut outs, the matte black fabric offsetting the sparking platinum perfectly.
It’s my charm bracelet, the one he gave me for my birthday with all our firsts – an Eiffel Tower, a London black cab, a helicopter for Charlie Tango, a glider, a bed, a catamaran like The Grace and an ice cream cone.
Hot tears pool in my eyes as I remember the beautiful, bitter-sweet day he gave it to me and worse, the day I took it off for the first time, leaving it and my heart behind at Escala. It’s something that I often thought about, desperately missing the gentle jangle of the charms around my wrist, an unfailing reminder of the remarkable man that Christian is.
With blurry vision I take it out, clutching it like a talisman as I curl my arm around Christian’s neck, his mouth streaked with amusement at me coming to pieces under the weight of his gift. “Thank you Christian,” I whisper hoarsely, my tight throat dry and scratchy.
He presses me close, never missing an opportunity to meld our bodies but his laugh is off, a little nervous. “You’re welcome baby, are you okay? I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m not upset,” my leaking eyes telling a different story, “I… It’s just… you’re too good for me, I don’t know what to say.”
He laughs again, a tad more at ease this time. He pushes his hands into my hair, on either side of my face to lock his gaze with mine, “you can start by giving me a thankyou kiss, I’ll think of something else a little later.” He lifts his brows playfully, suggestively; leaving no doubt that my repayment will involve something kinky.
Magnificent man that he is, he always manages to zero in on a problem and solve it, this time with humour as I giggle, my feelings of inadequacy banished before I pull his face toward me for a coy, soft kiss.
“No Mrs Grey, I’m afraid that won’t do at all.” He shakes his head, a serious frown making the game seem believable.
Never one to shy away from playful Fifty I flirt right back, “I do apologize Mr Grey, my lack of skill must be due to the sloppy training I received, you see the man I married is a very poor kisser, he needs plenty of practice.”
This time his laugh is rich and throaty, “is that so Mrs Grey?” his ash eyes shiny with mirth as he brings his mouth right up to mine, his warm breath making my heart jump and my skin race.
My teeth rake across my lip, my whole body lights up with awareness of his closeness as my eyelids flutter flirtingly. I nod, not trusting my voice that I know has turned thick with desire.
He adjusts his stance, planting himself firmly, “well then, there’s nothing for it, I’ll just have to practice.” His voice is low, mesmeric as he inclines his head to a slight angle, getting his approach perfect before he licks his lips, just a hairbreadth away from my yearning mouth. When the seal of my lips break to accommodate my quickening breath he takes his opening.
At first he gently traces my lips with his tongue, his hands in my hair and on my jaw, anchoring my head in place. Slowly, softly, smoothly he starts to work his mouth to mine, moving at a faculty stealing pace. It in no way reflects what it’s doing to me – where this kiss is unhurried, measured; everything inside me has gone into overdrive.
My pulse is suddenly hasty, my blood pounding, briskly surging heat through my veins, my breath – shallow and ineffective, adding to the dizzying effect of Christian’s unbelievable oral skills. I’m grateful for the stability of his hold; my body melting from the inside out.
I sense him smile against me, obviously enjoying the reaction my body is so freely giving him. He deepens his effort, his strong tongue pushing through my seduced lips and finding mine is a long, stroking dance.
The heat breaks out like fires across my body starting with my nipples that bead into unbearably hard points then turns to my belly, making it tumble in sweet expectation. Next are the folds of my sex, suddenly sensitive and swollen, leaking between my thighs. It rips a thrust from my hips in a fervent search for that satisfying friction.
Christian’s maddening mouth abruptly pulls away, a grin combined with hooded eyes looks into my flushed face, now distorted with an annoyed scowl.
Whoa, he can’t just stop like that!
“I see what you mean Mrs Grey,” he nods, feigning thoughtfulness, “lots of practice might just be what I need.” He bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing at me staring at him – befuddled and blatantly aroused.
“You can breathe now Mrs Grey,” his self-satisfied smile is taunting me, completely secure in the knowledge that he needs hardly lift a finger to work me into a breathless frenzy.
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if I’ll ever be able to out-sex him.
“Come,” he chuckles and takes my hand again, leading us to the steaming whirlpool.
It’s of little consolation to me that he sports another raging erection when he drops his robe and slips into the whirling water, especially if he’s going to insist on tormenting me like this. I eye the fruit and the melted chocolate thinking about how I can play him at his own game.
My robe pools at my feet as I shrug it off, watching Christian closely I’m rewarded with his renewed interest at the sight of my nude body. I force myself to linger, taking my time to get into the tub to give him an eyeful of what he seems to appreciate so much.
I push through the water, wearing my bedroom eyes I reach him. His breath catches as he readies himself for my sensual raid but instead of kissing him I hold up my bracelet, fluttering my lashes at him demurely. I’m modestly personified when I ask him, “will you please fasten this for me?”
His gaze sparks with humour, “so is the game now Mrs Grey?” a quizzical brow arches as a crooked smile moves his lips. His eyes never leave mine as he fastens the bracelet – assessing me like he’s calculating the next move in our carnal game of chess.
I sit on a low bench seat against the contoured wall of the spa that has strong jets of water pulsing into various parts of my back, it’s heavenly. I enjoy it for a beat, trying to look unconcerned, “Thank you,” I say still playing innocent while I hold up the dangling charms to admire, “but I don’t know what you mean Mr Grey.”
He smiles a knowing smile then shakes his head, a touch of admiration fleeting over his chiselled features. I get the sense that he’s saying game on and it gives wings to a million butterflies in my belly.
The seat he’s chosen is much higher than mine leaving his stunningly formed torso exposed. My gaze drifts over his enticing pecks and abs; following the water rivulets snaking down the dips of his muscled ridges I wonder idly how crazy I could drive him if I lapped them up.
With a fluid shift he slips off his perch and into the warm water where he stands, pushing his thighs between my legs so I have to look up to him. A look of pure sin colours his visage – he’s clearly making the first move in our little contest of seduction.
Smug and utterly self-assured he murmurs in a raspy voice, “you missed one.” His eyes flick to the charm bangle that now decorates my wrist.
He waits patiently for my brain to make the connection while he reaches past me to pour us some champagne. True to the Bellagio’s form I recognize the label of one of our favourite bubblies as the distinct Bollinger bubbles form little lines to pop on the surface of the soft pink drink.
My mind doesn’t dwell on the astounding attention to detail for long as I grapple with Christians riddle. My eyes fall on the bracelet and I lift it, paging through the charms one by one, taking stock. When I flip my wrist I instantly see the new addition, a charm that blasts its way through my consciousness with an almost violent force – it’s a tiny baby, obviously Chris.
My jaw drops, shocked eyes darting between Christian’s smirk and the significant add-on to my beloved piece of jewellery. I’m rendered speechless, it’s a powerful message about his acceptance of our little family and a heartbreakingly beautiful sentiment.
Damn! I realise that he’s outmanoeuvred me again, not even relying on his immense sexpertise but simply melting me with his kind thoughtfulness. Checkmate!
There is no way I can play unaffected, resist him somehow – I’m too deeply moved, shaken even. Game over!
This potent, sentimental display of love makes my surrender to him sweet, easy. Without preamble and with utter sincerity I take him into my arms, intent on giving him every inch of me he wants to take.
“I don’t know what to say, thank you – again! It’s perfect, like you.” Words tumble out but none seems adequate, I can only hope to show him with my actions.
My lips find his as my legs wrap around him, every stroke of my tongue reigniting the forceful surge of lust that he unleashed with his earlier kiss. Wet hands glide – slipping and sliding smoothly over shoulders, arms, backs and chests – like fireworks bursting across sensitised skin.
The pounding jets at my back create the illusion of another set of hands working the surface of my body – a deeply engaging sensation that makes me want to give Christian the same bliss. More than anything I feel the need to worship him with my grateful mouth.
I’ve never been more eager to show him how I feel and having sex has always been our favourite way of expressing that love, cementing the ties of our relationship. When we come up for air, chests heaving from our passionate kiss I wriggle off my seat and turn around.
Christian takes the opportunity to palm my behind while pushing his swollen flesh between the apex of my upper thighs. Drawing in and out his thick length drags over my clitoris, making my body judder and shake in appreciation. I gasp and he growls as he runs a practiced hand over the full body goose bumps he’s elicited.
I don’t want him to stop but I’m keener to give him my own gift. I pull the melted chocolate and the fruit platter closer, positioning it on the edge of the hot tub. I pick up a strawberry, plump and fragrant and swirl it through the rich, dark chocolate.
When I turn back to Christian his charcoal eyes widen, realisation curving his full mouth into a welcoming grin. I hold out the strawberry tip, enticing him to take a bite while sucking chocolate off my finger. His watch starts to burn, drilling into me, taking in every movement as he slowly sinks his teeth into the ripe, pink flesh.
I swipe the fruit over his lips then join the feast, licking the smeared chocolate from his lips, trailing my tongue down his chin to lap up the trickled juice. A low hum reverberates from his chest and he grabs my wrist, determinedly pulling me against him.
Without ever leaving my gaze he scoops his fingertips through the thick dark mass then salves it across my breasts, finger painting patterns over the pointing peaks of my nipples. My unslaked desire edging ever higher as he stands back to survey his art.
Nipples beading harder at the force of his want on display I push out my breasts, inviting his hot mouth for a hard suck. I slip my hands into his wet hair, watching his dark head move as his mouth closes over the needy tip. Blood rushes, filling and swelling the peaking bud as he slicks his tongue around it before increasing suction, drawing in the whole areola.
I moan, neck arcing as I relent to the erotic suckling, my pelvis thrusting forward in a jealous bid for the same attention.
His mouth comes away and his fingers take its place, rolling, elongating while his other hand dives below the water. His mouth bares a dark ring of smeared chocolate that I’m eager to taste but I’m too excited about the actions of his hand under water, it has me rooted in place – staring.
I expected him to find my sex but instead he grips himself, in the swirling water I can just make out his fist jacking violently up and down his strained stalk. I’ve never seen him like this, other than teaching me how to touch him I don’t ever remember watching him pleasure himself.
The force he uses is shocking and thrilling at once, so masculine, blatantly sexual – deeply arousing. His lids low he watches me watching him, “you drive me wild Anastasia.” His hoarse words nudging my need to take him in my mouth to an irresistible level – the erotic challenge unmistakable in the severe cut of his mouth.
As the sexy shock gives way to a deepening burn I wake up from my staring trance, “Please, let me.” I swallow, fighting against the shallow breaths of my passion. I nudge him to the edge of the spa. With flexing biceps he pushes himself out of the water and turns lithely, taking a seat on the edge.
What a sight! His rigid column at the perfect height for my mouth’s ministrations. I’m salivating for the feel of hot, velvet covered steel. He looks down, into the water seemingly searching for something and when I reach him he lifts me onto my knees on a low seat in the tub, then moves us to the right.
I wonder what he’s doing but when I push up, standing on my knees I realise why, a jet of water hit my sex, vibrating the folds in a way I know is going to make me come hard. He watches my realisation, his wicked grin far too knowing.
To hide my feverish blush I wrap my mouth around him, gripping the base of his erection to keep him still. I revel in the cry that tears through him as I pull him deep, lapping at the sensitive spot on the bottom just below the ridge of his head – a new trick that I read about, I’m wildly eager to please him with a modicum of the skill that he possesses. Already I can feel him grow thicker in his relentless race to orgasm.
His hands slip between our bodies and cup my breasts, firmly kneading, flicking his thumb pads over my nipples while the jet powers onto my aroused fleshy folds. “I’m close baby, don’t hold back.” He forces the words through his locked jaw, his face taking on the distortion that comes with pleasure.
I let go, thrusting my hips into the surge of water and double my efforts on him, plunging harder and faster, flicking my tongue over that secret spot with every drive until we both tense, teetering on the brink of release. With his fist pulse I quake then shudder, stomach muscles clenching into a shattering free-fall. Vaguely I feel a fist in my hair, showing me the rhythm to finish him off. My body still racked with juddering shivers I hear him, forcing out my name in a ragged groan as his hips flex, thrusting brutally one last time.
Overjoyed with the stunning result I smile up at him, no doubt glowing with satisfaction but it’s short lived. The sexy sated look he wore a second ago now a furious glower – jealous, accusing eyes boring into mine, “where the fuck did you learn to do that?”
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