“I want…” He swallows again and I put a hand on his chest, feeling the thundering beat of his heart and the uneven rise and fall of his breaths. “Tell me.” “I want to wear a collar of your bruises, Little Sparrow. I want marks on my wrists and tenderness all over my skin to remind me of the places you’ve touched me. I want to be owned and used. I want to be a vessel for someone’s pleasure instead of everyone’s pain, just for a little while.” He closes his eyes, but as soon as I grab his jaw, they pop open again, shining with a neediness that burrows inside me and awakens that same protective
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