His eyes shoot back open then, and his arm swings about before it catches my gloved hand and brings it toward his mouth but stops before he makes contact. He looks down at my glove as though it offends him. Then he’s sliding the garment off. I hold perfectly still. “He kissed you. Here.” A leather-clad finger trails along my skin. “Yes, he did.” “I don’t want him doing that. I want to do that.” He lowers his lips, but I jerk back my hand violently before he can make contact. “You’re not allowed to do that until you’re sober,” I tell him. “Nonsense. Give that back!” I laugh at him. “Go to
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