Bethany Hall

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“We’re going to date,” he says simply. Bluntly. “We’re not skipping that part.” I nod, pulse jumping. “And we’re going to do that a lot,” he adds, nodding down toward my crotch, where the sticky evidence of my orgasm is hidden away. I can feel my cheeks heat, but Lucky’s smile has my chest warming, too.
To Catch a Firefly
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