Even in all the hubbub of activity, the only thing I can focus on is her. She’s magnetic, sharp and bold. I spend an hour cataloging every smirk, every glance, and every flick of her tongue as she eats. I wonder if she does it on purpose. If she knows what it does to me. If she did, she would know how badly I want her, how I’m barely restraining myself from hauling her into my lap and devouring that teasing smile. Nor would she be sitting so damn comfortably. She’d probably run. Then again, maybe she’d drag me off instead, desperate for a private corner where our desires could run wild. She
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