“Sleep with you,” I hiss. “Just let you penetrate me.” At this, Dashiell collapses back onto the bed, stifling a hail of laughter. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning on penetrating you.” Okaaaaaay. I rock on the balls of my feet, straining against my need to fling open my bedroom door and bolt out of the building and into the rain. My embarrassment levels are climbing by the second. They hit leave-me-here-to-die levels when he regains enough composure to sit up and look at me, and says, “Bloody hell, girl. You’re killing me.” Killing him. Like the prospect of him sleeping with me is so hilarious
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