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Luck (Prouvaire): May, 1827
"And where did this come from?" I asked, running my fingers around a bruise on his shin. "I'm not sure," he said, grinning at me. "Some table somewhere has a grudge against me." "Poor Théo." I clucked my tongue and kissed his knee lightly. "All the furniture in the world is out to get you." He shook his head, chuckling. "Not all of it." "No?" I edged up the bed a little, running my hand over his thigh. He ran his fingers through my hair, and his expression changed from one of a man who finds the world against him but is willing to bear it to that of someone entirely happy with his present situation. "This bed treats me well, most of the time." "I should hope so." I nuzzled his stomach. "We're none too kind to it, chéri. I wouldn't be too surprised if it took its revenge sooner or later." "With any luck at all, it will wait a few minutes, at least." I smiled at him again to see the twinkle in his eye, then kissed his thigh. He shivered and said, "I hope so," then gasped as I took him in my mouth.
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