Read This Man Confessed Online

Authors: Jodi Ellen Malpas

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #United States, #Women's Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Contemporary Fiction, #Romantic Erotica

This Man Confessed (10 page)

BOOK: This Man Confessed
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I check myself in and pick up a magazine from the waiting room table, then spend twenty minutes pretending to read it. I’m fidgeting and pulling at my clothes to try and cool myself down. I really do feel sick, and my nauseous state only worsens when, like an omen, I come across an article expressing the arguments for and against termination. A despairing laugh falls from my lips.

“Something funny?”

I freeze as Jesse’s familiar brogue washes over me, and then I snap the magazine shut. “You followed me?” I ask, completely stunned as I turn to face him.

“You’re a rubbish liar, baby,” he states factually, but softly. He’s right; I’m shit at it. “Are you going to tell me why you’re at the doctor’s and why you lied to me about it?” He rests his hand on my bare knee and circles it slowly as he watches me intently.

I throw the magazine back on the table. There is no escaping this man. “Just a check-up,” I mutter to my knee, trying to shift it from his grasp.

“A checkup?” His tone has altered significantly. He’s not soft and soothing anymore. There’s an edge of anger to it.

He cannot dictate this. “Yes,”

“Don’t you think we should be doing this together?”

Together? My shock makes my angry eyes swing straight to his, finding curious greens greeting me. His hand eases up on my knee and I yank my leg away. “Like the decision you made to try and get me knocked up? Did we do that together?”

“No,” he answers quietly, turning away from me.

I stare at his perfect profile, unwilling to relent and turn away. He has some nerve and my despondency has been thoroughly chased away and replaced with my earlier anger, only now it’s amplified. “You can’t even look at me, can you?” I ask tightly. “I pray to God I’m not pregnant, Jesse, because I wouldn’t inflict the shit you put me through on my worst enemy, let alone my baby.”

It’s he who looks shocked now. His eyes are narrowed, his hair starting to dampen at his temples from a stressed sweat. “I know you’re pregnant, and I know how it’ll be.”

“Oh?” I don’t bother restraining my laugh. “How’s that, then?”

His face softens and he makes my heart slow when he reaches for my cheek and gently strokes it. “Perfect,” he whispers, flicking his eyes to mine.

Our gazes are locked for a short time, but I’m snapped from the spell that he places me under when my name is called and I’m swiftly brought back to where I am and why. My anger swiftly returns, too. It wouldn’t be perfect. Maybe for him, but for me it would be torture. I stand up, causing his hand to fall from my knee and his other from my face, but to my utter shock, Jesse quickly rises, too. Oh no! He is not coming in with me. This is going to be mortifying enough without my neurotic Lord trampling all over my doctor’s office. Anyway, if I am pregnant, I need Jesse
not
to know. He would never let me terminate his baby, and I hate to think of what lengths he’d go to in order to stop me.

“Don’t you dare!” I grate, and he recoils. “Sit!” I point to the chair and flash him the most threatening face I can muster. It’s hard. I could vomit at any moment.

Much to my utter shock, he wisely lowers himself down to the chair gingerly, his expression truly dazed by my outburst. I turn and leave him looking like he’s been slapped in the face, and I take a deep, encouraging breath before entering my doctor’s office.

“Ava! Good to see you.” Doctor Monroe is probably one of the nicest women I have ever met—early fifties, a little bit of middle age spread, and a sharp blond bob.

“And you, Doctor,” I reply nervously as I perch myself on the end of a chair.

She looks concerned. “Are you okay? You look a bit green.”

“I’m fine; I just feel a bit icky. It’s probably the heat.” I fan my face. It’s even hotter in here.

“Are you sure?”

I feel my chin start to tremble, only serving to increase the concern on her round features. “I’m pregnant!” I blurt out. “I know you’ll give me a hard time about the pills, but please don’t make me feel any worse. I know I’m a fool.”

Her concern transforms into sympathy immediately. “Oh, Ava.” She reaches for my hand, her empathy only making me feel like even more of a hopeless fool. “Here.” She hands me a tissue. “When was your period due?”

“Today,” I answer swiftly.

Her eyes widen. “Only today?” she asks. I nod. “Ava, what makes you so certain? Your period can be a few days late, just as it can be early.”

“Trust me, I know.” I sniffle. I’m no longer in denial, and I’m facing this head-on.

She frowns and reaches into her drawer. “Take this to the toilet,” she says, handing me a pregnancy test.

I waste no time. Leaving Doctor Monroe’s office, I peek down the corridor and spy Jesse’s back. He’s still sitting down, but he’s leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees with his head in his hands. I don’t dwell on his obvious despair and walk quickly into the ladies’.

Five minutes later, I’m back with my doctor and staring at the test, which is neatly positioned at the other end of her desk. She taps away on her keyboard while I frantically tap my foot on the floor and then hold my breath when she reaches over and picks the test up, looking down at it briefly before turning her eyes to me.

“Positive,” she says simply, holding it up for me to see myself. I knew it would be, but the confirmation makes it even more of a reality, and it also enflames the hurt and madness that has brought me to this point in my life.

 “I want a termination,” I say clearly, looking straight into Doctor Monroe’s eyes.

I watch as she visibly sags in her chair. “Ava, of course, this is your decision, but it’s my job to give you the options.”

“Which are?”

“Adoption, support. There are many single mothers out there who manage just fine, and with your parents’ support, I’m certain you’ll be well looked after.”

I cringe. “I want a termination,” I repeat, ignoring all of her advice and sincerity. She’s absolutely right, though. I would be looked after by my parents…if I was single. But I’m not. I’m married.

“Right.” She sighs. “Okay, you’ll need a scan to determine how far gone you are.” She starts retapping away on her keyboard, while I sit feeling small and stupid. “I’m prescribing some more pills so once you’ve sorted yourself out you can make sure you keep protected. The hospital will give you plenty of information with regards to aftercare and side effects.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, taking the prescription from her. She doesn’t release it immediately, and I look up at her.

“You know where I am, Ava.” She looks at me questioningly, obviously doubting my decision, so I offer a small smile to reinforce that I really am fine, that I’m making the right choice.

“Thank you,” I repeat, because I don’t know what else to say. I leave her office and prop myself up against the wall outside, feeling sicker and hotter.

“Ava! What’s the matter?” He’s at my side in a heartbeat, his voice spiked with panic. He hunkers down to get to my eye level. “Jesus, Ava.”

A sweat breaks out across my forehead and my mouth is suddenly invaded with saliva. I’m going to throw up. I dart across the corridor and crash into the ladies’, then proceed to eject the contents of my stomach in the first toilet I find. Jesse’s big, warm palm is gently circling my back as I heave.

“I’m fi—” My stomach convulses again, and I let rip another evacuation as I crouch and slump in front of the toilet. Why the hell do they call it morning sickness when it hits you randomly throughout the day?

The door to the ladies’ opens.

“Oh dear, should I get you some water?” It’s Doctor Monroe.

“Please,” Jesse replies.

I hear the door close again and Jesse squats down behind me, cradling me from behind. “Are you done?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know.” I still feel terrible.

“We can stay. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say haughtily.

He doesn’t say anything. He takes the water from Doctor Monroe when she returns and assures her that I’m in good hands. I don’t doubt him. I always feel safe in his hands. If it wasn’t for the small problem of him being so sly and underhanded, he would be perfect. We would be perfect.

He remains crouched behind me, holding my hair back and offering me water every now and then while I compose myself. “I’m good,” I assure him as I wipe my mouth with tissue. I know there’s no more to come up. I feel empty.

“Here.” He pulls me to my feet and settles my hair down my back. “Do you want some more water?”

I take the glass from him and walk over to the sinks to wash my hands. I sip, swill, and spit to clean my mouth out, and as I look up into the mirror, I see Jesse standing behind me. He looks worried. I brush my cheeks and ruffle my hair.

“Let me take you home,” he says as he comes to stand closer.

“Jesse, I’m fine.”

He reaches around me and strokes his hand down my cheek. “Let me look after you.”

“I’m okay.” I step back and pick my bag up.

“You’re not okay, Ava.”

“Something hasn’t agreed with me, that’s all.” My hand is twitching by my side.

“For fuck’s sake, lady! You’re at the fucking doctor’s, so don’t tell me you’re fine!” He clutches at his hair and shouts as he swings his body away from me in frustration.

“I’m not pregnant,” I blurt quickly, but then suddenly contemplate the horrific thought of him not wanting me if he thinks that. My heart constricts painfully in my chest. I feel sick again.

“What?” He’s quickly facing me, his eyes shocked, his body twitching. He really
does
want this badly.

I fight my natural reflex, trying desperately to keep my hands by my side. “I’ve had it confirmed, Jesse.”

“Then why are you throwing up all over the place?”

“I have a bug.” My excuse is feeble, but by the look on his face, which I’m definitely not mistaking as devastation, he believes me. “You failed. My period came.”

He doesn’t know what to say. His eyes are flicking all over the bathroom, and he’s still twitching. My fear is only strengthened by his reaction to my lie. I’m confused, exhausted, and utterly heartbroken. No baby equals no Jesse. It’s all very clear now.

“I’m not happy about this. I’m taking you home where I can keep an eye on you.” He takes my hand, but I pull it away, bristling immediately at his words.

“You’re never happy with me.” I look him square in the eyes. “I’m always doing something to upset you. Have you thought that perhaps you would be
less
not happy without me around?”

“No!” He looks horrified “I’m worried, that’s all.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m fine,” I snap, leaving the ladies’ in a complete haze.

I walk out of the doctor’s, straight into the pharmacy and hand my prescription over the counter, then sit myself in a chair and watch as Jesse paces up and down outside with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. Returning my body forward, I notice the pharmacist glancing up at me every now and again, and it’s then I realize that he’s probably wondering what I’m doing with all of these pills. The temptation to explain myself nearly makes me stand and approach the counter, but he calls my name, and I’m approaching to take the paper bag from him instead.

“Thank you.” I smile before making my escape, but only to go and face my brooding man.

“What’s that?” His eyes are fixed on the bag.

“Backup pills.” I hiss in his face. “Now that we know I’m not pregnant, I want to stay that way.”

His shoulders slump and his head drops. I’m battling consuming guilt at his reaction to my news, but I have to ignore it. Sidestepping him, I start walking away, my legs a little shaky, my heart pounding relentlessly in my chest.

“You’re not coming home, are you?” he calls after me.

I squeeze the bulge back in my throat and march on. His words carry an air of finality, and, more worryingly, he’s not demanding that I stay with him. If I remove this baby from my life, it’s becoming quite obvious that I’ll be removing Jesse, too. I walk against the breeze, my face wet with tears.

T
he empty feeling was inevitable. The hollow, desolate, miserable feeling was inevitable. But the overwhelming guilt that has swamped me was not so expected. I fought off twinges here and there, but now I’m consumed by it. And I’m furious for feeling like this. The lack of urgency to chase my scan appointment is also screwing with my mind.

It’s Friday. It’s day number four without Jesse. My week has been a steady torture, and I know it’s never going to get better. My heart is slowly splitting, each day widening the crack, until I know I’ll probably cease functioning. I’m close already. What hurts the most, though, is the lack of contact, leaving me wondering if Jesse is drowning in vodka, which also means he’s probably drowning in women.

I jump up from my desk and run to the toilets, throwing up immediately, but I don’t think this is morning sickness. This is grief.

“Ava, you really should go home. You’ve not been right all week.” Sally’s concerned voice comes through the cubicle door. I heave myself up on a sigh and flush the chain before exiting to splash my face and wash my hands.

“Stupid bug hanging around,” I mutter, glancing at Sal and admiring her gray pencil skirt and black blouse. The dowdy A-line skirts and high-necked shirts are a distant memory. I haven’t asked, but with this consistent new attire, I assume dating is going well. “Are you still seeing that Internet bloke?” I ask. I would refer to him by name, but I have no idea what he’s called.

“Mick?” She giggles. “Yes, I am.”

“And it’s going well?” I turn and lean against the sink, watching as she starts brushing down her skirt, then proceeds to smooth her high ponytail.

“Yes!” she squeals, making me jump. “He really is perfect, Ava.”

I smile. “What does he do?”

“Oh, some professional nonsense. I don’t pretend to understand.”

I laugh. “Good.” I was just about to say
be yourself
, but I think it’s too late for that. I hear my phone shouting from my new desk. “Excuse me, Sal.” I leave her in the mirror, reapplying her red lipstick.

Approaching my new L-shaped desk, I ignore the deep-seated disappointment because I’m not hearing “Angel,” but I can’t ignore my exasperation when I see the caller is Ruth Quinn, my tiresome but infectiously enthusiastic client.

“Hi, Ruth.”

“Ava, you sound terrible.”

I know, and I probably look terrible, too. “I’m fine, Ruth.” That’s because I’ve just emptied my stomach again.

“Oh good. Can we arrange a meeting?”

“Is there a problem?” I ask, hoping to God there isn’t. I’m trying to keep this project as smooth as possible because even though Ruth seems pleasant enough, I predict a tricky customer if things don’t go her way.

“No problem. I just want to clarify a few details.”

“We can do that over the phone,” I prompt.

“I would prefer to see you,” she informs me, and I sag in my chair. Of course she would. “Today,” she adds.

I sag farther on an audible groan. I am
not
ending my shitty week with Ruth Quinn. I practically started it with Ruth on Tuesday, and I’ve had a midweek interlude on Wednesday. Anyway, it’s three in the afternoon. Does she think she’s my only client?

“Ruth, I really can’t do today.”

“You can’t?” She sounds irritated.

“Monday?” Why did I say that? I’ll be starting my week with Ruth Quinn again.

“Monday. Yes. Eleven okay?”

“Great.” I flick through my diary and pencil her in.

“Lovely.” She’s back to chirpy Ruth. “Have you anything nice planned for the weekend?”

I stop writing, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. I don’t have anything nice planned for the weekend, apart from nursing my breaking heart, but before I can really consider what I’m about to say, I come right out and say it. “No, nothing much.”

“Me either!” She’s going to do it again. I know it. “We should do drinks!”

My forehead hits the desk. She either can’t, or simply won’t, take a hint. I pull my heavy head up. “Actually, Ruth, I said nothing much, but I’m visiting my parents in Cornwall. It’s not much really, not fun, anyway.”

She laughs. “Don’t let your parents hear you say that!”

I force myself to laugh along with her. “I won’t.”

“Well, have a nice weekend doing nothing much with your parents. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Thanks, Ruth.” I hang up and glance at the clock. Another hour and I can escape.

*  *  *

I drag my exhausted body up the stairs to Kate’s flat and head straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge and being immediately confronted with a bottle of wine. I just stare at it. I don’t know for how long, but my eyes are fixed on the damn thing. It takes the sound of a very familiar voice to pull my eyes away, and I turn, seeing Kate, but hers wasn’t the familiar voice that caught my attention. Dan walks in, and they both look as guilty as sin.

“What’s going on?” I ask, slamming the fridge door. Kate flinches, but remains quiet. My brother doesn’t, though.

“None of your business,” he snipes, slipping his hand around Kate’s waist and kissing her cheek. This is the first time I’ve seen or spoken to him since my wedding, and it’s not playing out to be a happy reunion, either. He frowns at me. “Maybe I should ask
you
what’s going on. Why are you here?”

I freeze in position and flick wide eyes to Kate, catching her very faint head shake. She’s not told him. “Just swinging by after work.” I return my eyes to Dan. “When are you going back to Australia?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, brushing off my question rapidly. “I’m off.”

“’Bye,” I spit out, turning and reopening the fridge to grab that bottle of wine. Kate is asking for trouble, and I’m liking my brother less and less by the day. I never thought I’d be glad to see the back of him. I ignore the exchange of good-byes going on behind me and focus my attention on pouring a big glass of wine.

By the time I’ve sipped half, I hear footsteps going down the stairs, and I turn to face my stupid, redhead friend. “Are you fucking mad?” I wave my wine glass at her.

“Probably,” she grumbles, sitting herself down on a chair and signaling for some wine. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine!” I grab another glass and pour some, passing it over the table to her. “You really are getting yourself in a mess.”

She scoffs and takes a quick slurp. “Ava, shall we reevaluate the situation here? You’re the one who’s been married for less than a week, left your husband, and is knocked up.”

I recoil at her harshness as she eyes up the glass I’m clenching. I’m instantly on the defense. “I’m a few weeks. Some women don’t find out until they’re three months.” I’m trying to dampen down the burning guilt that’s smoldering in my gut.

She gets up, climbs onto the worktop, and lights a cigarette. “A few drinks won’t hurt you, not that it matters,” she says, opening the kitchen window and draping her arm over the ledge.

“Not that what matters?” I frown, and take a more reluctant sip.

“Well, you’re getting rid of it, aren’t you?”

The insensitive words spike at my conscience, but it doesn’t stop me slurping more wine. I think I’m more in denial now than I ever was. “Yes,” I mutter, sinking onto a chair, my thoughts wandering off somewhere.

“Right!” Kate’s assertive tone snaps me from my reverie. “We’re going out.”

“Are we?”

“Yes. I’m not letting you mope around any longer. Has he called?” She takes a drag of her cigarette and looks at me expectantly.

I wish I could say yes. “No.”

Her lips purse, and I know she’s thinking it’s strange, too. “Get showered. We’re going for a quiet drink. Not too much, though.” She looks at my glass. “Not that it matters, I suppose.”

“I don’t think so.” I shake my head, her further blasé words eating me up inside.

She sighs and flicks her cigarette butt from the window before lowering herself down. “Come on, Ava. Just a sensible glass and a chat, not about Jesse or Sam or Dan, just us two like old times.” By old times, she means post-Matt and pre-Jesse. We did have some laughs in those four weeks, before The Lord of the Sex Manor trampled my life.

“Okay.” I get up from the table. “You’re right. I’ll get ready.”

“Fab!”

“Thank you for not telling Dan why I’m here.”

She smiles as we leave the kitchen together to get ready for a quiet drink and a chat.

*  *  *

He’s constantly on my mind, and I’m trying my hardest to put him to the back, but when we walk into Baroque and the first person I see is Jay, the doorman, I give in. He frowns at me as I walk past, dropping all conversation with a fellow guard, but I proceed to the bar without a word.

“Wine?” Kate asks, as she muscles in at the bar.

“Please.” Casting my eyes around, I immediately spot Tom and Victoria. I tap Kate on the shoulder and she turns her head slightly. “Did you know they would be here?”

“Who?”

I nod in the direction of Tom and Victoria, who are dancing over. They have no idea what’s happening in my life. “Barbie and Ken,” I quip dryly. I can tell by Kate’s eye roll that she didn’t.

“Love the dress!” Tom croons, stroking my midriff.

I look down at the tight black dress that I borrowed from Kate. “Thanks.” I take the glass being handed over Kate’s shoulder.

“You okay?” I ask Victoria.

She fluffs her hair and sweeps it over her shoulder. “Amazing.”

Oh? Not good or great, but amazing? “That good?” I ask, wishing she could transfer some of that
amazing
over to me.

“Yes, that good.” She giggles.

“She’s in love again.” Tom nudges Victoria in the side, spiking a heavy scowl from the pretty blonde.

“I’m not, and that’s rich, coming from the man-whore here!”

Tom looks genuinely shocked, and for the first time in days, I laugh. It feels good. Kate joins us, and with a lack of free tables, we just stand near the bar, chatting. He’s still floating around in my mind, of course, but my cunning best friend is doing a great job of distracting me for a while.

That is, until I look up and see him.

My heart doesn’t speed up…it stops. I’ve not seen him since Monday, and if it’s even possible, he looks more devastating than ever. I know immediately that Jay has called him, and I also know I’m probably going to be hauled from the bar, but that doesn’t stop my eyes from slowly dragging up his jean-clad legs, onto his white shirt, up his neck, and finally onto his face—the one that sends my eyes delirious with pleasure, even when I’m mad with him. He doesn’t look mad, though, and he doesn’t look like he’s been drinking. He looks fresh, healthy, and as spectacular as ever. And every other woman in the bar thinks so, too. They have noticed this breathtaking male, who’s striding across the bar, some even following him. His sparkling greens land on me briefly and my heart resumes beating…very,
very
fast. His face is expressionless as he stares at me for a few seconds before he slowly pulls his gaze away without so much as an acknowledgment to my presence. Then he continues to the bar with a flurry of women in tow.

I’m crushed, my racing mind thinking up all sorts of explanations for his quiet absence over the last four days—where he’s been, what he’s been doing. He’s clearly not mourning his loss. He looks arrogant, confident, and sickeningly handsome—just like he did on the day I met him. They are all familiar traits to me, but right now, they are all enhanced.

Uncertainty and raging jealousy are strangling me, and I’m still staring at him, watching as he assaults the women surrounding him with that fucking face, making them disintegrate on the spot.

Oh yes, there he is, my husband, looking like he’s just landed from planet fucking perfect. My eyes narrow as I watch a woman in a red dress stroke his arm, and I literally hold myself back from physically removing her. I’m very aware of the silence in our group, so I drag my eyes away from my bastard of a husband and see Kate watching me closely, Tom dribbling along with the other hussies, and Victoria scuffing her ridiculous heels on the bar floor. I shake my head on a little laugh and take a massive swig of the wine I’ve been carefully sipping, flicking my eyes briefly over in his direction. He knows I’m watching. If he wants to play games, then I’m willing, and I don’t plan on settling for anything less than gold.

“Let’s dance.” I down the rest of my wine and slam the glass on the bar before pushing my way through the small crowds until I find myself on the dance floor. When I turn around, I find my three loyal friends have all joined me.

Kate looks nervous. I make a snatch for her wine, but she swipes it away. “Don’t be stupid, Ava,” she warns in my ear. “I know you’re still pregnant.”

I’m trying to piece together something to strike back with, but nothing is coming to me, so in an act of complete stupidity, I turn and stomp over to the bar. I know he’s watching me, and I know Kate is, too, but it doesn’t stop me from ordering and downing a fresh glass of wine before returning to the floor.

“What are you trying to prove?” Kate yells at me. “Because if it’s that you’re a fucking twat, then you’re succeeding.” Her words would probably hit a nerve if the alcohol wasn’t getting in the way. I don’t care.

I’m distracted from Kate’s wrath by Tom’s squeal, his eyes lighting up when the DJ launches Rob D “Clubbed to Death.” He pounces on me. “Get me a whistle, shove me in some hot pants, and put me on that podium!
Ibiza!

I shut my mind down, canceling out all thoughts of my infuriating man, and let the music take me, my body falling into sync with the track, my arms rising above my head and my eyes closing. I’m in a world of my own. My only awareness is of the loud music and me at the center of it.

I’m lost.

Numb.

Silently devastated.

But he’s near.

I can sense him. I can smell his fresh-water scent closing in, and then there’s his touch. My arms slowly fall as I feel his palm slide across my stomach, his groin pressing into my lower back, his hot breath in my ear. I’m surrounded by him, and even though I should be pushing him away, I can’t. My blank mind remains blank, and I start moving with him as he kisses my neck, his hardness pushing into my back. I’m powerless to stop my head from falling to the side, giving him better access. My throat’s taut, making me hypersensitive to his firm tongue, which is trailing straight up my vein until he’s at my ear, breathing heavy, hot, controlled breaths. The music seems to get louder, his handling of me more severe, and before I can open my eyes, I’m being dragged from the dance floor. I could try to stop him, but I don’t. I follow his lead until I’m being pulled through the corridor toward the toilets, everything around me seeming slow and slurred as I focus only on his broad back in front of me. As we approach the end of the passageway, I glance back and see Jay watching us, and then I look to Jesse and see him give the doorman a nod before opening the door to a disabled toilet and pushing me inside. The door is swiftly shut, the lock flipped, and within a second, I’m pushed up against the wall by his body. The music is louder, and I look up, seeing integrated speakers in the ceiling, but my face is soon yanked back down. Our eyes meet. His greens are dark, completely smoked out, and his lips are slightly parted. I’m panting as he takes my wrists and pulls them up, pinning them on either side of my head before he leans in and takes my bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, then pulls away, dragging it between his grip. I’ve lost all control of my bodily reactions. My belly is turning, shifting the thump that’s hammering away inside of me straight down to my core. I’m desperate for him, but the placing of my hands and his hard body compressed to mine is preventing me from moving anything but my head, so I reach forward with my lips. He ducks my aim. This is going to be on his terms. His lips hover over mine, only millimeters from my reach, his hot, minty breath heating my face, but then he pulls away. He’s teasing me.

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