The first time Tyler touched me, all those years ago, it was with gentle reverence. He’d handled me like a girl with a broken heart, which was exactly what I was. His kisses had been slow and soft, his hands hesitant and trembling, and I could still remember the look in his eyes when he laid me back and entered me for the first time. They were wide, careful, sensitive, longing and pure. But Tyler didn’t take me gently tonight. Tonight, he punished me with every kiss, with every bite, with every tight grasp. It must have been true, what he’d said on the beach — he wanted to hate me, too. And I
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