Claudia Fosca Stahl

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My hands fall limply to my sides, weightless, body and nerves losing all center of gravity, knees wobbling when his mouth hovers over mine and his delicious tongue agrees to get acquainted. Our heads slant for a better angle. God, I want to run my fingers through his shaggy hair. Kiss his face, his eyebrows, his broken nose.
The Learning Hours (How to Date a Douchebag, #3)
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