If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. 1 through 1. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. “Rather darker than most of them.
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