A Broken Heart Gets Mended. |
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Introduction: The hand was still there when I looked, but now it was pressing my skirt between my thighs, a slight pressure at my front. My gaze followed the arm up, “Becks, you’re touching me.” I accused. “I know I am, I’ve been trying to ever since I first saw you. You don’t mind, do you?” I tried to think, nothing seemed to make any sense, except the fact that the hand felt good. I lowered my own hand, covering the other, then pressed it into me. It did feel good. |