I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the memory of Lorenzo’s lips grazing my ear played on repeat. I could still feel his breath, warm and infuriating, and the way my body betrayed me, responding in a way it had no right to.I was supposed to hate him. I did hate him. And yet, my body didn’t seem to understand that. It felt wrong, so deeply wrong, that I couldn’t stop thinking about him even now, lying in bed, my heart racing at the thought of his touch.After hours of tossing and turning, sleep finally came. But my dreams were filled with him—those dark eyes, that smug smile, his deep voice whispering into my ear, and his breath fanning against my skin. I woke up several times thinking he was in my room and every time I went back to sleep, the dream resumed.When I woke the next morning, groggy and restless, I forced myself to push those thoughts away. Lorenzo was my captor, not someone I should be dreaming about. I threw back the covers and headed to the bathroom, determin
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