“Baby, you didn’t.” He takes a step forward, stops, and wipes his hand over his mouth as raw hunger burns in his eyes. “Christ, you did.” “You like?” I ask a little breathlessly, turning around and peering over my shoulder at him. That growl of appreciation I enjoyed so much when he walked through the door has nothing on the possessive sound he makes when he reads his name across the back of the Slayers jersey I’m wearing for him. “I wish I could have worn this to the game, but if it makes you feel any better… I did wear these.” With one arm braced on the back of the couch, I bend forward in a
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