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Summary
Misty imagined he’d lay back for Claire on her fresh white sheets, and she, wine-drunk and sated, the taste of roast lamb and gravy at the back of her mouth, she would pick each straining button of his shirt until he lay spread open before her. Her hands, spread across his dark chest and sinking in like cedar roots. Her dress, rising up, her heavy thighs growing longer and longer inch by sliding inch.
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Claire gets Misty on Snapchat. She didn't realize how much Misty can gather from a picture.