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Logan was smoothing two fingers over the very mustache I was refusing to ride. “I mean . . . I’m not not offering,” he said.
“I can’t stop thinking about how pretty you looked with a mouthful of my cock. I know how you taste. If that’s how you define friendship, I need to seriously reevaluate the friends in my life.”
His hands fisted the hemline of the jersey, pulling our bodies together. “Seeing you in this makes me fucking feral.”
“Trust me. I understand that. But recently I have also learned that there comes a point when you’ve got to ask yourself if holding on to the hurt is worth missing out on something good.”

