His fingers brushed mine. He was mine. It wouldn't have mattered. He didn't pull me in, he simply stopped pushing me out, and I was back in that room.
I stared up at him. Whatever do you mean, ma petite? But he looked entirely too pleased with himself to really need to ask. A fear so raw and naked, that it hurt to meet his eyes. I'm not sure I do either, but follow my thought.
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