I meet her stare again as her hand continues to roam her body. I can’t help it; I pull my gaze from her beautiful aquamarine eyes and follow the path of her hand. Her fingers drift over her collarbone, continuing to move lower. “Why?” she asks, her fingers drifting over her breast. All I can think about is how I want to replace her fingers with my own—or even with my mouth. “Because I really fucking want you,” I confess. I palm my cock for a moment, trying to give myself some sort of relief. “But you were just sick. You need to take a warm shower and then get back in bed and rest. And
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