Justine James

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I press my trembling lips together. “Did you set an alarm to creep on me?” “I just wake up. It’s like my body knows where you are, at any given moment.” He smiles, a little wistful. His finger starts on my collarbone, traces my shoulder, descends down the little bulge of my biceps. I shiver. “Stay close,” he repeats. And then he wades in.
Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)
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