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... s skin under my lips.
He smelled like something sinful—clean linen laced with spice and musk, like fresh rain on hot asphalt and the kind of cologne that clung to skin, not clothes.
It curled around my senses, warm and heady, wrapping me in a fog I didn’t want to escape. My lips lingered at the curve of his neck, soft and searching, like they already knew their place.
I knew I shouldn’t be doing this—I wasn’t supposed to. But I couldn’t seem to stop, and his body was righ ...
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