cayomi
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“Then…” Enid steels herself. “Then can I touch myself, or not?”
Wednesday exhales, uncrossing her arms. “You may.”
This fucking girl.
“Fine,” Enid says in a small voice, scooting back on the bed.
She feels cowed and decidedly not turned on, shoved as far away from her as possible against the unforgiving headboard. This was not how she saw her Thursday afternoon going when she escaped to find some privacy.