“Last night,” he says against my cheekbone, “you fell asleep, and I couldn’t stop thinking about your fingers. How they’d been between your legs. How I could have licked them.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Imagine how difficult this must be for him. “What does…celibacy. What does it mean?” He stares up, cheeks flushed dark. “I’ll get you a dictionary for your birthday.” “Koen. Where is the line?” “The line is everywhere, Serena.” A hollow laugh. His hand travels up my spine. Cups my nape. Our lips are closer than ever, but never meet. “My entire life is made of fucking lines. And you’re blowing
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