His eyes drop to her mouth, the perfect bow of it, to kiss stung lips and a pink tongue.
"Good," he says again, letting her pull it off and over his head, hair a rumpled mess. Because he thinks it would be good, too - and with his gone, he tugs at hers, gently tugging, take all this off.
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"Good," he says again, letting her pull it off and over his head, hair a rumpled mess. Because he thinks it would be good, too - and with his gone, he tugs at hers, gently tugging, take all this off.