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Summary
"I know I’m an old man now, so I’m not exactly going to be your type anymore, but – “
“My type? Daniel Molloy – my type is you. I know you will still blush prettily when I praise you, and just because we’ll need to put down a pillow doesn’t mean I won’t like seeing you on your knees anymore.”
Daniel shivers at the thought, anticipation running hot through his veins. It’s about as sudden and electric as touching a live wire, and probably just as dangerous, but then, he’s never been very good at the whole self-preservation thing.
