When she doesn’t answer, frustration blasts through me, and I react by crashing my mouth down on hers. I kiss her roughly, desperately, the days and weeks of missing her catching up to me and pouring out in the form of deep, hungry kisses that leave us both breathless. She doesn’t pull away. She just kisses me back with the same unchecked passion, her hands clinging to my wet shoulders like she’s lost at sea and I’m her life preserver. That’s how I know she still loves me. That’s how I know she missed me as much as I missed her. And that’s why I wrench my mouth away and whisper, “Why did you
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