‘I give Connor a back massage, sitting on top of him as he lies face down. My hands rub and knead at his back muscles, feeling him unwind at my touch. While I trace the marks and scars on his back and shoulders, a thought occurs to me. “There are some marks I bet you wouldn’t mind getting.” I say. “What would that be?” He asks. “Scratch marks.” “Why would I want scratch marks?” I lean down to press my lips to his ear, my hand scratching all the way down to his lower back. “Shall we find out?”’

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