I tried to move my hips, but his hands clamped tight on my hips, keeping me still. I drew his rage around me like a coat of fire, and I opened up a part of me that I kept hidden from everyone. Tell me, he said, voice soft. No, no, some small part of me knew that wasn't true.
He used himself to stroke me in a way that I'd only had done with fingers and hands before. And every word seemed darker, more suggestive than it should have. He was using his leather jacket to shield his face from the white-hot glow of the two uniforms' crosses. He opened his eyes a little at a time, but once he saw enough, his eyes went wide, and he took the mirror from me.
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