Aaaaand, there it is. You’re letting Harper win, letting her get to you. This is exactly the sort of poison dart she meant to throw. Exhaling and squaring my shoulders, I take off toward the limo and climb in. When Tristan gets in behind me, I scoot right onto his lap, grab his face in my hands and kiss him. The sensation of our mouths touching is sharp, almost painful, like he’s cutting me with a knife and making me bleed, but then healing me right after. Pain, pleasure. Sharpness, soothing. A dichotomy. Tristan Vanderbilt’s mouth, much like Zayd Kaiser’s tattoos, is a warning. I’m hot and
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