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“You'll hate me in the morning. You. Don't. Really. Want. This.' He punctuates each word with a kiss along my jaw, making his way to my ear. He bites the lobe, and my core liquifies, going molten. 'Stop telling me what I want.' I breathe raggedly and thread my fingers through the short strands of his hair, tilt my head, giving him better access.” — Rebecca Yarros
You'll hate me in the morning. You. Don't. Really. Want. This.' He punctuates each word with a kiss along my jaw, making his way to my ear. He bites the lobe, and my core liquifies, going molten.
'Stop telling me what I want.' I breathe raggedly and thread my fingers through the short strands of his hair, tilt my head, giving him better access.