Friday, January 02, 2015


By Colleen Foley

Cider Mountain is a “quaint” little ski town in Vermont. It’s so quaint the only people who ever ski there are the locals and they like it that way. I’d spent the last few months going from one end of New England to the other staying in backwaters and back of backwaters Seth would never think to look in.

I needed time to sift through the BDSM and catharsis scented powder my mind had become after Kaia.

I had a forkful of apple-rum pie, mounded with whipped cream, halfway to my lips when He walked in the door, grinning.



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