Coda Nadeau

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“I hate you,” I whisper against his tanned, perfect skin, breathing in open-mouthed pants. “I hate you so much.” “I know, Summer.” His hands shift down to my hips, just to wrap around me again and hold me close in his embrace like he really gives a damn. “But if you didn’t, then this wouldn’t be nearly as fun for me.”
Dead of Summer
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