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Summary
It was at this moment that I forgot to convince myself that I was only kissing him back out of muscle memory; that the pressured feeling in my trousers was nothing more than a projection of Camilla. I’d love to believe that I said no; that I told him to stop. The truth, though, is that I didn’t tell him to “cut it out,” and I’d instead nodded eagerly.
or; What if Charles never knocked?
