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“Good,” I tell her. “That was really good.” A smile flashes over her lips. She likes these kinds of compliments, I’ve noticed. Maybe not the ones that make her feel ogled or like an object. She’s had enough of those. But she loves being praised. Good thing I fucking love praising her.
She’s being such a good girl.
It hurts to look at her. That’s the way her beauty is: a dagger, sharp and piercing. And yet the pain doesn’t stop me from looking.
