Reading My Mind
/A part of me hated that he could read my mind, but another, much larger part, loved it. Like how he knew when to put his hands around my neck and the exact amount of strength that he should squeeze. Or when I wanted him to throw me onto the bed and tell me in no uncertain terms exactly how I was going to pleasure him. And that I was going enjoy every minute of doing so.
He was right, and it was infuriating.
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