The penthouse bedroom of the boutique hotel is everything the rest of Harlow isn't—quiet, neutral, entirely hers. No history in these walls. No one who knew her at fifteen. It is now saturated with the heavy, intoxicating heat of a long-overdue reunion, the air thick with the hushed rustle of tangled silk sheets and the ragged, desperate cadence of Julian's breathing.He is a man entirely, blissfully consumed, his large hands tracing the delicate curve of Luna's waist with a fierce, worshipful reverence as he presses soft, burning kisses down the elegant column of her throat. Having endured what felt like an agonizing eternity apart from her, Julian's singular, tunnel-visioned focus is entirely devoted to the woman beneath him. He holds her as though she is simultaneously the most precious artifact in existence and an absolute, visceral necessity he is starving to devour.Yet, even within this temporary paradise, the outside world possesses a persistent, irritating habit of bleeding t
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