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... th violet light from the crystal lanterns embedded in the walls.
She barely stirred beneath the silk covers, one pale thigh slipping free, the rest of her buried in warmth. Her breath fogged the sheets near her lips, every exhale a soft mist.
The marks on her hips, her thighs, and the kiss marks laced the curve of her collarbone—still fresh. His handprints. A dozen delicate fingerprints from when she clung to him like he might melt and disappear.
A girl made of winter, he ...
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