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He let me in instantly, mind-to-mind and soul-to-soul, and then I was looking through his eyes—looking down at me as he gripped my hip and thrust. He purred, Look at how I fuck you, Feyre. Gods, was my only answer. Mental hands ran along my mind, my soul. Look at how perfectly we fit. My flushed body was arched against the wall—perfect indeed for receiving him, for taking every inch of him. Do you see why I can’t stop thinking of this—of you?
