THALIA POV I gasp, hands flying up to grab his wrist. Out of instinct, I twist his finger. He winces but doesn’t let go. "You'll get yourself hurt" He says in low tone, pressing my body closer to him. The position forces my back to arch, my throat to expose, my body to curve into his: vulnerable, pinned, every inch of me aware of his hard muscles. Of him pressing against me. Of his dick. I should fight harder: Heel to his toes. Elbow to his ribs. Move. But I don’t. Because when he tightens his grip, his scent: fruit, oud and incense floods me again, the same one that’s been clinging to his shirt all day, wrapping around me like smoke. “Does your husband know you’re in my apartment?” He questions, sliding his other hand down my lower back, his fingertips tracing just above my waistband, igniting unwanted currents through me. I hate it. Hate that my body responds to the same hands that... “Wearing my clothes, smelling like me" His nails dig in further. Touching the skin of my hi
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