“Your hands know me,” she whispers. “Yes,” I murmur against her hair. “Know you, crave you, worship you.” Her breath hitches. I could go on. Tell her our bodies clash like they were made to tangle for eternity. That I could spread her in the mist and make her body sing. Have her unravel in seconds from a few tender touches coupled with a nuzzled nip to her neck, just below her ear. I’d mulch her enemies with my bare hands to see those dimples. Or at the very least, pave a bloody path for her to slaughter them herself. I was living an eternal solitude, more than prepared to spend forever
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