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“Are you staring at me?” I whispered. “Yes.” My breathing got shallower, and I adjusted my hand in his, not sure if it was his sweat or mine I was feeling. “Why?” I asked. He hesitated a moment before answering. “You surprised me,” he said quietly. “Do you use the word ‘fucking’ a lot?” My shoulders started to drop. Was I too crude? “No,” I admitted, looking away. “I—” “It sounds good on you, Rika,” he cut me off, putting me at ease. “Use it more often.” — Penelope Douglas
Are you staring at me?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
My breathing got shallower, and I adjusted my hand in his, not sure if it was his sweat or mine I was feeling.
“Why?” I asked.
He hesitated a moment before answering. “You surprised me,” he said quietly. “Do you use the word ‘fucking’ a lot?”
My shoulders started to drop. Was I too crude?
“No,” I admitted, looking away. “I—”
“It sounds good on you, Rika,” he cut me off, putting me at ease. “Use it more often.