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Fifty Nine

“Dom,” I manage to find my voice.

He’s too close. Too fucking close and with the way he’s oozing off sex appeal, I don’t think I have any self-control left in me.

His hand is wrapped around my neck, and he’s careful not to press down on my throat.

“Yes, babe,” he whispers against my lips, his lips gently brushing against mine.

What are we doing?

One minute ago he was helping me bring down coffee powder and sugar from the top cabinet, and now he’s pressing me against the sink with his body pressed against mine.

And why does this feel so good and so right?

I hate to think our body fits perfectly against each other like they’re made for each other. He’s swept me off my feet and this new feeling is overwhelming, overpowering, yet so wrong, but right.

“There you are,” a familiar voice says, breaking us from this little spell we found ourselves. Dominique clears his throat as he shifts back as we turn toward the source of the voice.

Oliver is standing in the kitchen, a knowing smirk on his
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