“I have a black belt; I can handle a backpack.” “I know. But I’d like to carry your books for you, all nineteen-fifties-style chivalrous like.” I tip my head. “Is this to make up for the unchivalrous face fuck on the hotel bed?” His eyes flare. “Which I loved, by the way,” I tack on, in case he thinks otherwise. I’m pretty sure all my moaning and humming and generally pleased noises should have tipped him off to that fact already. “Yes. No. Yes. I loved that too, so fucking much. But we shouldn’t talk about it right now or I’ll need to use your backpack or maybe even your body as a shield
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