She shrugged, turned in her chair, and pulled up the side of her dress without the high slit. The raised scars there took his breath away in the manner of a stunning work of art. He ground his teeth as she let the hem of her gown slip back to the floor.
“You do it to yourself,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Her life was there for him, written in blood. And her need spoke deeply to his.
She simply nodded.
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