“Tell me you believe me,” he orders. There’s a slight rasp to his voice. An undertone of conviction and need. The combination leaves me speechless. “Tell me you know I would never hit you.” The same burn hits my eyes with a vengeance, and I turn my head, unable to look at him any longer. Not when he’s this close. When I can feel the heat of his body. The weight of his stare. The brush of his clean, minty breath. “Do you really think so little of me?” he whispers. The harshness in his voice is gone. It’s replaced with genuine curiosity. And fuck me, I don’t. I don’t think so little of him. Call
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