to my mouth. My hands find the edge of his shirt and slide underneath up to his chest, where I draw my claws down his stomach. My need twists tighter and tighter. His kiss is patient and slow, and torturous. “The last time I was kissed here, it was you giving me my first kiss.” He tilts my chin up, and I stretch on my toes to meet his lips, but he pulls his head back. I try to shuffle back, but his arm keeps me locked in place. Instead, he searches my eyes, clearly lost in his thoughts—I would give anything to hear what he’s thinking out loud. He clears his throat. “Can I give you your last
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