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... the elevator after him, the lingering heat from earlier still pulsing low in my body. I could still feel the ghost of his touch from the dressing room — the way he had pressed me up against the wall between racks of silk dresses, his fingers sliding beneath the hem before I could even protest. The humiliating part wasn’t that I’d come for him there, trembling and muffled against his shoulder, but that he’d made me thank him for it in a voice that barely sounded like mine.
Now, in the mir ...
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