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Chapter 54

I did none of those things.

Instead, I stepped into his space, twisted myself free, and cupped his cheeks. His stubble was raspier than I’d imagined and prickled my palms. What would it feel like to kiss him when he wasn’t clean shaven? How would it feel against my neck? My chest?

His lower lip wobbled. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

I silenced him with my mouth.

It wasn’t a sweet, romantic kiss. It was anger and longing and hurt in perfect harmony like a well-written symphony. My lips demanded, and his surrendered, opening up to my probing tongue. His hands gripped my sides so hard I was sure he was giving me bruises. I welcomed them. I wanted—needed—his marks all over my body when I woke up tomorrow. That way I would know this hadn’t all been a dream.