"It wasn't hell all the time," he murmured. With those memories, he felt his body begin to burn. He remembered the places he used to kiss that made her melt like butter-her neck, the backs of her knees, the fiddle-shaped birthmark at the top of her thigh. The sound of her laughter, the sight of her smile, the cries of her pleasure. The deep indent of her navel and the dual dints at the base of her spine. He remembered the perfect shape of her breasts and the flare of her hips. It might have been over eight years since he had seen her nude, but there were some things a man just did not forget. That body might be hidden beneath layers of muslin and silk at this moment, but he still remembered what she looked like without all those clothes. Her body, so much smaller than his, was still exquisitely shaped, a figure of delicate bones and soft, full curves.
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