Macy Collins

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His eyes darken. “I’m going to keep you,” he promises, just like he did last night. Or was it this morning? “You’re mine, Violet.” I lift my chin. “Only if you’re mine.” “I’ve been yours for longer than you could ever imagine.” As if the words untether him, he clutches the nape of my neck and kisses me long and hard, stealing every breath, every thought beyond the sweep of his tongue and the rising tide of need that heats my skin.
Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)
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