Then he kisses me properly, and I wrap my arms around his neck, pouring everything I feel into the embrace. His lips are soft at first, careful—as if he’s afraid to hurt me—but when I kiss him back with all my strength, he deepens it, his tongue sliding into my mouth in a slow, sensual dance. I whimper as his hands begin to roam over my body, the thin fabric of my nightgown doing nothing to hide how his touch sets me ablaze. He cups my breast through the silk, and I arch into his palm, gasping when he squeezes gently. “Still so perfect,” he murmurs against my neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my skin. He nips at my pulse point, and I know a mark will be there tomorrow—but I don’t care. I tug at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, and run my hands over his hard abs, up his chest, to his shoulders. He groans as my fingers trace the lines of his muscles, then I cry out as his hand slides between my legs, stroking me through my panties.
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