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Summary
A gasp snags between her lips as he lifts her onto the lid. And then she’s sitting on Lucifer Morningstar’s piano in just a towel, the soft fabric riding up her thighs, and he’s standing between them.
When she offered to drive him home, she had braced herself for at least three attempts to get her into bed.
She didn’t expect to be surprised.
But she is when he runs a thumb gently over her bullet wound… and even more so when he leans down and presses his lips to it.
