And the last word was whispered against his chest, still looking up into those eyes, searching his face. At a time when I'd needed girl advice and a little sympathy, she'd offered only her own outrage, and anger. He would not let me drown in still more sensation. He was either well under twenty-five, or needed to eat more.
It just needed a good poke and stir, and there would be flames, oh, yeah. My voice wasn't soft anymore. I waited to be irritated, but I wasn't. I didn't get it all.
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