I feel like a marionette, and she’s pulling all my strings. Her lips brush the shell of my ear, and she whispers, “Look at me.” Her thumb finds that spot between my ear and my jaw, and she presses, gently at first and then more firmly. I swallow and grind out, “I’m listening.” Her palm wraps around the back of my neck. I might not smell all that fresh.īut that thought disappears when her fingertips drag along my collarbone and I feel the warmth of her breath at the edge of my jaw. The only air circulation in here is from a portable fan, so I’ve been sweating and shirtless for several hours. So I bend instead, until my ear is next to her lips, like I’m waiting for her to tell me a secret.įor a moment I consider the fact that I’ve been up and down the stairs to the loft at least a dozen times. If I take a step forward, my boots will touch her toes. But there’s only six inches separating us. She crooks a finger, beckoning me closer.
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