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She still doesn’t move, and the longer she doesn’t, the harder it is not to touch her. Your heart aches, howling at the cold shoulder she’s giving you, and you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around her leg and bury your face in her thigh, to whisper apologies into her skin until you’ve paid your penance, to do anything so that she’ll just look at you.
“Do you question whether I need you, Kathryn?”