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“I walk into the moonlit room and hear the click of the door behind me. A heartbeat later his presence is at my back. He stands there, hovering, the only contact the heat that simmers off his body onto mine. Then I feel it—a fingertip, or perhaps the back of his finger, moving slowly up and down my spine.” — Iris Ann Hunter
I walk into the moonlit room and hear the click of the door behind me. A heartbeat later his presence is at my back. He stands there, hovering, the only contact the heat that simmers off his body onto mine. Then I feel it—a fingertip, or perhaps the back of his finger, moving slowly up and down my spine.