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“I can’t tell if you want to fight me or fuck me.”
“How disappointing. I would have proposed a different ‘F’ verb,” he tosses over his shoulder.
“There could never be enough of you that I love. Until the sun rises in the south and sets in the north, I will always be yours.”
“And what’s wrong with my dress?” “Well…” He drops to a hushed whisper, “I’m hoping if I tell you I don’t like it, you’ll take it off.”
