ANASTASIAHe was enjoying this — watching me flinch, watching me squirm under his touch, his breath, his lips.The scent of him was so thick in my skull I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.Should’ve dove for the damn door the second he yanked his shirt off, showing that tatted upper body, every inked line on muscle, carved into arms, chest, shoulder, and spilling to the sides of his waist.My mouth watered.The bite mark I’d left on him months ago was still there , a scar he refused to heal. Like he wanted the world to know exactly what I’d done to him.Tattoos… gods, there were so many. Dark, jagged against tanned skin. Too much.My fingers were still tangled in his hair, trembling from the effort of trying to hold him back. It was like trying to leash a storm.His breath scorched my cheek, his scent crashed over mine until I could barely breathe.I should scream.He’d said it himself, *You should scream.*But my throat was locked, my body a traitor.I hated that I was still
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