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“I’m going to be on a cross country trip with lady grumpy pants,”
“Couples hold hands,” she repeated. “Sure, but Satan probably doesn’t bother holding the hands of the damned before he steals their souls.”
That sounded like some shit that I would absolutely get swept up in with my track record of piss poor decisions. When everything in your common sense can tell you plainly that you should absolutely not be doing something, but you still just say fuck it and do it anyway.
“If you don’t want this to happen, I need you to say something now. This is the only chance I’m going to give you to tell me to stop before I fuck you right into tears. And you can think about it for a second before you decide. You probably should.”
“I’ve never been gentle with you, Fancy Face, and I don’t intend to start now. This won’t be slow and easy. I want your screams. I want you to break your fingernails on my skin. I want the fucking air in your lungs.”
I kissed her the same way that I planned to fuck her, like I hated her.
Hate and love both hold hands with passion. They both make people do equally crazy things and the line between them disappears while you think you’re staring right at it.”
He was the kind of man who got women pregnant despite an IUD, and he could probably do it with a single look.
“A soulmate doesn’t just happen by chance,” she said. “It’s not somebody you just stumble across. Soulmates are made. I think you decide that you want somebody. You have to keep choosing that somebody every second of every day. You have to decide that they’re worth all the shitty days, that you’d miss the sound of their snoring more than you’d ever want the quiet nights back, that their broken pieces can fit together with your own so you both have a little better chance at being whole.”
“And then you can try to earn my forgiveness. You can use every part of this body to make me come.” His fingers brushed across my cheek and down my neck, then trailed down between my breasts. “You’re going to start by using that venomous, fucking tongue to trace every vein in my cock. And you’re going to do it now.”
You’re a whole fucking tragedy wrapped up in this tiny, annoyingly perfect bundle of mayhem,”
“Only good girls get called good girl,” he said. “Bad girls end up in my handcuffs. They choke on my dick. Bad girls get fucked in every way imaginable until they beg me to stop. And then I fuck them a little harder.”
“Break for me. And shatter me with you.”
Maybe she’d fucked the crazy into me? Was that sexually transmissible? The crazy? It probably was. Sounded like something that would happen to me.
Breaking her apart would absolutely be painful, but it needed to happen. Busting out the damaged and ruined pieces would be like taking a sledgehammer to a brick wall, but I’d take that same sledgehammer to myself so that she could rebuild herself with the broken shards of me that were stronger.
“The monster in me, the one that wants to hurt people, kill people; the one that needs to be kept locked away. It’s like — it’s like it’s quieter when she’s around. Not gone. I don’t think it’ll ever be gone. But the sound of her stupid voice scraping against my eardrums seems to drown the monster out a little. She’s louder, more infuriating, screams for all my attention so there’s nothing left of me that can focus on the monster.
“Five more minutes.” “No more minutes.” “That’s not how you negotiate,” I said. “I don’t negotiate. I decide.”
