Uncertain Reader

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He might have carried on kissing her to her wrist, upon her forearm, past her shoulder, up her neck. He very well could have. He, feeling her cool skin under his warm mouth, quite wanted to. In moments like this, one wished to worship a little. Her wide, shocked eyes reminded him that her hand wasn’t, and would never be, his to kiss.
The Irresistible Urge to Fall for Your Enemy (Dearly Beloathed, #1)
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