“Tell me you love me,” he pleaded. “Johnny—” “Tell me.” Inhaling a steadying breath, I whispered, “Johnny, I love you.” “Thank fuck,” he groaned, exhaling loudly. “You won’t remember this,” I added shakily. “But I will.” Which was the only reason I was telling him my truth. “I love your tits,” he informed me then. “You haven’t seen them.” He nodded solemnly. “I have.”
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