Coming December 4th from The Writer’s Coffee Shop….
“Close your eyes,” he says. My heart rate increases and beads of sweat begin to drip down my back—possibly from the sun, but most likely from Stefan—as I obey. “Open your mouth.” He commands me, and with my eyes closed, his voice sounds so haunting, so suave. Again, I do as he says. The flesh of the fruit is pressed against my lips, and he runs it around my mouth but doesn’t place it inside. Then, he removes it. “Lick your lips.”
I do as he says. The flavor is sharp and…
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