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The point was to make her feel it. Every second. Every inch. Every breath.
So, I rose up from my knees just enough to bring my mouth back to her breasts, claiming them with the kind of focus that made time feel irrelevant. My hands slid up her sides again—slow, steady, warm—palms mapping the curve of her ribcage before cupping the full weight of her chest once more.
God, the way they filled my hands.
Soft and heavy, like they were meant to be held. Touched. Worshi ...
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