He kisses me.It starts slow, and tender. A tasting of salt and whiskey. It’s a question, and my response is the answer. I open my mouth, inviting him in, and the tenderness dissolves.He groans, animalistically, and tackles me.We go down onto the thick carpet. He’s on top of me, his weight heavy but essential. His hands are in my hair, on my face, desperate to touch every inch of me.“You’re here,” he gasps against my neck. “You’re actually here.”“I’m here,” I confirm, my hands sliding under his t-shirt to feel the heat of his skin. His back muscles bunch under my palms. “I’m not going anywhere.”He pulls back, straddling my hips. He looks down at me, his eyes dark with worship.“Take this off,” he says, tugging at my blouse. “I need to see you. All of you. Can I?”“Yes,” I breathe. “But don’t rip it. It’s silk.”He laughs, breathlessly, and his hands work the buttons with surprising dexterity. He peels the fabric away, exposing my bra. (The sensible beige one. He still has the bla
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