Dylan releases his hold on me, but before I have the chance to move, he pushes me onto my back and hovers over me, his hands braced on the bed, one on each side of my face. “You’re wrong,” he says, and I look at him in shock, but furrow my brows in question. He lowers his body toward me and stops right before we touch. I try to hide my sharp intake of breath, but he notices and smiles. This playful yet assertive side of Dylan is new, and I can’t decide how I feel about it. My eyes hold his, waiting for him to continue. “This is me on top of you,” he says. His gaze intensifies, as though he’s
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