“You want me to say it, don’t you?” My stomach flips. “Say what?” His thumb brushes the underside of my breast, teasing. Not touching, but close enough that my breath catches. “All the things you like. All the things he never bothered to learn.” I go still. He chuckles, his breath warm against my temple as he leans in. “Poor thing. You must be so wound up after two years of missionary and silence.” Heat floods my cheeks, my throat aching. Because fuck him, he’s right. “Shut up,” I snap, jerking my head back, desperate for space, for clarity, for something that isn’t the dizzying effect of him.
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