He picked up his lighter again turning it over and over in his hands, until the gold of it swirled in the dim light, shining. I put my hands on his shoulders, and would have drawn him down to a kiss, but he drew back, and stroked himself against me, so hard, so rough, so smooth. I hadn't heard one of the weakest of the new vamps that Jean-Claude had welcomed to town. No, you are not.
I grabbed his ponytail, grabbed it and wound it around my hand, tight, tight enough that he gasped. If you don't care, and it goes horribly wrong, it's not that important. He smelled like pack, that faint scent that all of Richard's wolves had. She held up the picture, which they'd brought in one of those art carriers that looks like a thin briefcase.
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