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Summary
It was a dizzying thing, somewhere between the heady intoxication of alcohol and the abrupt, consuming surge of a riptide. That she could reach out a trembling hand and just touch. That her lips could seek out his neck, his cheek, his lips, and just taste. That she could let her eyes fall upon the dip of his collarbone, or the flex of his shoulder blades, or where the V of his hips disappeared beneath his trousers, and let her sight linger there.
That such bold and brazen desire was not only allowed, but wanted.
