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But that only brought more tears. Yes, I had a confirmed good-ole case of the winter cold that just would not go away. I'd started sniffling and coughing almost two weeks ago after my thirtieth birthday celebration (which had consisted of just the two of us, a bottle of chocolate sauce, a container of whipped topping, my little toy box, and the kitchen island).
But there was more to my current demeanor. More that Chris didn't know about.
I'd overheard my boss on the phone Tuesday telling someone that he was going to offer a couple of employees a promotion to fulltime after the holiday. Which started me thinking. If I was one of those candidates, did I want to work there permanently manning the front desk.
Maybe I should have finished college. I'd just not had any interest in any of the fields when it had been time to declare a major.
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Nipple clamps were still on my list of things I wasn't certain about. The sensation had been borderline painful for me when he'd used them before. I'd been too scared to want to try again. I didn't realize they were even still in the box.
Chris had always said he only wanted to bring me pleasure.
And then he eased off. Every part of me felt like it was breaking by the time he pulled out. He wasted no time flipping me onto my stomach, still holding my arms above my head. He pressed them back against the mattress, his other hand shoving my right knee up.
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Due to the lack of space, we both used our clipboards as placemats. He folded his arms on the table as well, one hand around his paper cup. "What's going on behind those beautiful emerald eyes?" My cheeks burned, and I could only look as high as his single-dimpled mouth while my hands fumbled at opening the wrapper on my sandwich.
This man had seen every part of me laid bare. Why did I always get so embarrassed when he paid me a compliment.
His mouth parted slightly, and a light sheen of sweat formed on his upper lip. As he worked, his jaw clenched and released, his head tilting this way and that to avoid mine.
His hands expertly wrapped, threaded, twisted, and tugged the rope just how he wanted it. Repeating from back to front, weaving patterns he knew from memory.
We'd done this so many times, I knew myself just by feel that this would be the basic version.