From the Bookshelf of Sharks of Awesome…

‘At length he cleared his throat and lifted me into his arms. I thought about pitching a fit but decided against it. Really, I only had enough energy for an eye roll.
“I’m carrying you down the hill.”
“Fine.”
“Then I’m driving.”
“Whatever.”
“After that you’re going to eat.”
“Okay.”
“Then you’ll sleep.”
“Sounds great.”
Drew glared down at me in his arms and mumbled, “‘ Ah, women. They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent.’”
Good Lord, I must’ve been half-unhinged, because that Nietzsche quote made me laugh.’

‘“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” Drew’s voice—the sound and the tone—startled me.
“You have?” I lifted my head from the wall and blinked at his inky silhouette, still some distance away. “For how long?”
“Since I saw you.”
“Since you saw me?” My echo was a squeak.
“Yes.” He admitted, stalking closer. His eyes glinted in the sparse light offered by a distant flash of lightning. They were focused with heated intensity on my mouth.
I sought to clarify his meaning. “Since you saw me tonight?”
“No. Since I first saw you. Since I first laid eyes on you and felt sorry for every beautiful thing that was made no longer resplendent—nullified by your being.”
I didn’t breathe for ten seconds. When I did, the air left my lungs in a whoosh, and with it departed my peace of mind.’

‘“No, Sugar. You are not; you aren’t any of those things. You are loveliness personified; you are grace and fascination. I think of you and I stop breathing. I worry that any movement will steal the image of you from my mind’s eye. But the memory is a pale, hollow specter to luminous reality. Because when I see you, when I touch you-”
“Oh my God, you have got to stop talking!” I grabbed his face with both my hands and brought his mouth to mine. If I hadn’t, I might have spontaneously exploded.’

‘I couldn’t yet speak, but I didn’t want him to misinterpret my actions. I launched myself at him, my arms coming around his neck, my lips covering his—moving, working, pursuing, chasing—until he comprehended my intent.
He was stunned at first. I could tell because, though he was kissing me back, his hands lingered in a hovering touch on my hips, cursory and tentative.
Then his hands were on my body. His touch echoed, surrounded, felt layered and rich, comforting. He sought to soothe me, but I would have none of his softness. I wanted the storm. I needed a downpour.’