So it surprised me a little when his fingers braided themselves into my hair, securing my face to his. My arms locked behind his neck, and I wished I was stronger—strong enough to keep him prisoner here. One hand slid down my back, pressing me tighter against his stone chest. Even through his sweater, his skin was cold enough to make me shiver—it was a shiver of pleasure, of happiness, but his hands began to loosen in response. I knew I had about three seconds before he would sigh and slide me deftly away, saying something about how we’d risked my life enough for one afternoon. Making the most
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