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More deliberate with his movements.
Thankfully, he was patient, and I quickly became better at stemming my impulses when our times together grew more intense.
The next morning, I found cans of chicken noodle soup and clear juice stocked in the kitchen; tissues and pain relievers in the bathroom; and bedding folded on the ottoman.
But there was no sign of Chris.
"Cad," I barely breathed, a mixture of annoyance and arousal warring inside.
I thought I was dreaming again, just like last year. That had turned out to be real.