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“Maybe we’ll come back tomorrow,” Ethan said, his voice a low promise. “There are more paintings I’d like to get lost in.”
They moved together, as if drawn by an invisible line traced across the floor. The gallery’s low lighting made every glance, every brush of a hand, feel amplified. Maya’s pulse quickened as Ethan reached out, his fingers grazing the curve of her jaw, then tracing the delicate line of her neck. The touch was light, a promise more than a claim, sending shivers that seemed to echo through the room. fc2ppv4574684 hot
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