“Mm, we should go,” I whisper, my hands bumping down the ridges of Dawson’s abs. He’s still fully clothed, as am I, because let’s face it. We’ve been fake-dating for five days, then real dating for seven, and he’s my boss.
I’m not going to advance things too fast, that’s for sure. I never do, because I know I’m easy to talk to and moderately pretty. A lo…
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