“What is this?” “I thought it would look familiar to you,” he quips, just letting me soak it in as his hips bump against the inside of my thighs. His thick cock so damn close. My head tilts and I peek up at him. “Why?” He knows I mean why does he have a ballerina inked on him when the rest are patterns—scales, lines, and geometric shapes that remind me of a kaleidoscope. His Adam’s apple bobs. “Because I missed your first professional dance.” He clears his throat, staring at my hands and avoiding my eyes. “I wanted to be there so badly after all the times you’d been there for me, so I went and
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