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... f his affection, his passion. His lips were warm and soft against mine, and so was his palm as he caressed my cheek, replacing the cold sensation of my tear tracks with his gentle touch.

I parted my lips, inviting him in. This time, he no longer tasted like blood. The fresh scent of him danced on the tip of my tongue, and I had almost forgotten how enticing, how addicting that beautiful feeling was. I let out a sigh, slipping my hand behind his nape, pressing him closer into me.

...

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