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Her breath against my jaw smelled like expensive Cabernet and the kind of trouble that gets a man a dishonorable discharge.
I watched the way his thumb tracked the rim of the glass, like he was looking for a flaw in my packaging before the pitch.
Her mouth tasted like the heavy, dark silt of a riverbed after a flood, all iron and fermented sugar and something dangerously clean.
The heat coming off him was like a Santa Ana wind, dry and relentless, making the hair on my arms stand straight up.