“How often I have dreamed of this,” he whispered, pulling his shirt over his head and sending it to the floor where his coat already lay, before spreading her corset wide and placing kisses between her breasts, down the soft skin covering her ribs, speaking to her body in a way he might never have spoken to her face. “How many nights have I taken myself in hand, thinking of this,” he went on, the words echoing around them in the starlit dome, the shock of their truth setting her aflame. “How many have I spent alone, ashamed, desperate for you?” “Not more than I,” she whispered, immediately
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