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He’s like this with everything he does—an in-control perfectionist

And, fuck, he really is good at this

He drags the fleshy pad of his thumb across my lip Over my chin Down my neck and chest

He takes his tile top

His touch is light His fingers slide along my slick skin with barely any friction

I’ertips down my stomach

He traces the waist of my bikini bottom

His fingers curl into the straps They toy with the bow holding the right side together

Then the left

Then he’s brushing his fingers against ainst me

I need it gone

I need his hands on my skin

I need him as desperate as I am

Slowly, he drags his fingertips up le to its tip, follows the halter strap

He tugs the bow undone