Date: 2021-09-27 11:29 pm (UTC)
whose_son_am_i: (Default)
Soon enough, the book is entirely forgotten. One hand moves lower against her hip, fingers splayed possessively. The other moves to her chin and jaw, stroking softly as he pulled away to speak. Only enough to speak. "My Sweetling." A lover's tone, and an implied question of what she wanted now.
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whose_son_am_i

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