“I want to kiss you every time I hear the shower turn on and know that you’re in there,” he rasps. I touch his stomach, his chest, the muscles tightening as my fingertips brush over them, and he takes hold of my hips, lifting me up into the truck. “I want to kiss you all the time, Daphne,” he says. “Sometimes it’s just easier to find an excuse.” I pull him closer by the belt loops, his hands grazing over my thighs as he pushes in between them. The curves of our bodies melt together. His parted lips run along my neckline. I scoot deeper into the truck, drawing him in after me, then climbing
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