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... edge of the nearby counter like her body was short-circuiting. Her pupils were blown wide, lips parted, chest flushed and rising like she was already halfway to breaking.
"This is wrong," she breathed, but her eyes were fixed on my lips like she wanted to be ruined by them.
"Is it?" I whispered, letting my thumb graze along her cheekbone—slow and reverent, like I was studying the shape of a woman who forgot she was a masterpiece. "Or is it the first right thing that’s happened to ...
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