His head was thrown back, his chest
heaving, and the look on his face was more indicative of pain than
pleasure.
Rosemary snatched her fingers back, certain she’d
misunderstood the technique somehow.
But he whimpered piteously and she realized, no, she couldn’t
have misunderstood. Because (a) she was a genius, and (b) it just
wasn’t that complicated

Louisa Edwards

Stichwörter: conceited sexual-naivety

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