She’d come to know this cologne of him, the floral notes of rose infused with the masculine spice of his skin—though she wasn’t entirely sure how. It was perhaps the hours she’d spent holding Cyrus’s body, breathing him in even as she cried. She could still feel the silk of his hair sliding between her fingers, the down of his cheek under her hand. For her efforts she’d been rewarded this unrelenting burn beneath her breastbone, a ripple of feeling so powerful it spasmed without reprieve, refusing to settle even when her thoughts turned to anything and anyone else. Her body had never felt so
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