I curled my hands over his in encouragement, and he responded by pulling his hands away only long enough to slip them under the shirt and then back up to resume his previous torture. “If you don’t know people,” I gasped, biting my lower lip as his fingers tugged and tweaked the already pebbled peaks, “you shouldn’t make assumptions about what they’re looking for. I’m tempted by you, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, but I’m not like the men you’re used to. I just don’t do well with people, and I have very particular tastes.” He had worked his hands forward between me and the wall now, and he cupped my breasts and plucked sharply at my nipples through the infamous shirt. I felt a surge of raw hope and need, even as he said everything he could to deter me. “I don’t play these games out in the real world, Cami.” His voice was rough, almost resentful. His hips ground against me, and I shivered as his hands left the wall and circled my upper arms. He hissed through clenched teeth, pulling away for a second and then pressing forward with a groan to pin me to the wall.
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