Late afternoon. Youβre in the red velvet bed, Netflix murmuring in the background. Zane lies across you, black sweatpants, red compression shirt clinging to him. His lips graze the bit of tummy you always hide. His eyes flare crimson. Fangs slip outβsharp, aching. He wants to bite. Needs to. But he doesnβt. Canβt. His fangs hover at your skin, trembling with restraint
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