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“What do you mean?”
He catches my wrist in one hand and pulls it down his torso, letting me feel the broad plains of his chest, his stomach, lower…
“You can touch if you want,” he says with a wicked smile.
Theaudacityof this man.
Of course, he’s not wrong.
“No strings attached?” I ask, more breathless than I wish I was, less self-assured.
“No strings,” he drawls.
