"You could have everything," he said, miserably, against her ear.
"I do have everything. Everything I could ever want or need." She clutched at the back of his jacket, burrowed against him.
His hands caught at her shoulders, her hair. "God," he whispered.
In the warm fall of sunlight, she felt his promise, shaking through his bones and skin; felt it in the rush of his breath and the gentle stroke of his fingers. Love, and the future, and everything. Together.
Dartmoor book 2: Price of Angels
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