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Summary
With a flick of my hand, I send ripples across the water, watching as they shine and flow to finally touch you, caressing the tender skin on the inside of your wrist. I like to think the water is my lips. I pretend I am the water, clinging to your skin, licking your wrist without shame. Not looking at me, you gather water in your palm, making it flow through your fingers. I imagine water is my fingers, slipping right between your slender ones.
Series
- Part 4 of Lost Boys
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