For the first time since Fallon taught me speech, I’m lost for words. He’s harshly chiseled, raw . . . fiercely beautiful. My lungs pull full of his scent, so deep and drugging, like smelted stone topped with a ladle of cream. I hold the breath hostage, taking him in, admiring his black hair that falls just past his shoulders. It’s half pulled back off his face that’s partially shadowed by a few loose strands failing to soften his regard, his piercing eyes the rich molten color of fired wood. His brows are thick, the lower half of his face shaded by a dark beard that adds a rugged texture to
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