More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Read between
December 3 - December 4, 2025
“That woman you were watching …?” My fingers tighten around his throat as he desperately nods. “She is mine.”
Maybe it’s best that she gets as far away from me as she can. Even still, it burns in my chest, a hot needle that’s slipped between my ribs to lodge in the very center of my heart. It’s a place I never thought could feel pain or longing anymore. But it does. I drive a sticky hand through my hair as my shoulders fall. “Goddammit, Rowan, you feckin’ eejit.” My eyes press closed. “Sloane …”
“I have no regrets about where I am.” And there it is. That blush. A pink so addictive that it haunts me. I want to hoard these images of Sloane, her face flushed, her eyes dancing, her smile desperate to be freed.
I’m 100% positive that I hate you And I’m 100% positive you’ll love me one day
“What are you doing?” “What I should have done the other day. I’m cooking with you,” I say. “We’re going to make it together. Put the phone on speaker and start grating the Parmesan.”
“I wish you would have stayed, Blackbird. I would have taken you back into the kitchen. We could have made something together.”
I said, ‘Sloane is the most beautiful girl in the world.’ And then my brother called me a ‘feckin eejit’ because I could have all the pussy I wanted in Boston but instead I’ve taken a vow of obstinance—” “Abstinence.” “—abstinence over a girl who doesn’t want me.”
“I’m not taking the most beautiful girl of the night to the social event of the year in a fucking Honda Accord.” “What’s wrong with a Honda Accord?” I ask as a flurry of butterflies dances across my rib cage. “I drive one.” Rowan scoffs and rolls his eyes. “No, you don’t. You drive a silver BMW 3 Series.” “Stalker.” “You’re overdue for an oil change, by the way.” “Am not.” “Liar. The car has literally been telling you Change my fucking oil, you heathen for the last three weeks.”
“What are you doing?” I hiss. Rowan rests the handle of the ax against his shoulder and huffs before giving me a wink. “Getting revenge for hurting my girl, of course.”
“Did he just have a heart attack?” Rowan asks. He stops by Harvey’s unmoving head to stare down at his bloodied face. My shoulders fall with disappointment. “This is so uncool, Harvey.” “You literally scared him to death. You should be proud.” “I had so much more in me.” I give Mama Mead a petulant shove and she rolls off Harvey’s unmoving chest. “Do you think we should give him CPR?” “If you want to, but I call dibs on not doing mouth-to-mouth.” “… Dammit.”
“How long have you been”—her eyes slice up from the cards and roam over me—“pining …?” My hand drags down my face as I groan. Something tells me there’s no bullshitting Rose. “A long-ass time.”
“Something caught your eye, pretty boy?” I whisper. “Yes,” he says, his voice pained. “God, yes, Sloane. All of you.”
“I’ve been suffering for four years, Sloane. I’m begging you here. Get in the fucking bath.”
“I’m done running around this, Sloane. I’ve wanted you for four years. And you’re going to show me what I’ve been missing.”
“The last one, the fourchette, I got that a few months before I met you. It just made me feel more confident. And I thought a partner might like it too.” Rowan’s eyes are a lightless void, his voice a deep and gravelly rasp when he says, “Did they?” My gaze travels across the room to land in the shadows. I don’t look at him when I shake my head. “I don’t know. I haven’t been with anyone since I met you.”
“Pick a safe word. Do it now.” I swallow. Hard. “Chainsaw.” His breathy laugh is a burst of warmth against my core. “How fitting, love. Now be a good girl and find something to grab on to”—he says, then passes one long, slow lick over my center—“because I’m about to destroy you.”
“Because I ‘like you …’?” Rowan cackles an incredulous laugh. “Like. You. Seriously …? Christ, Sloane. You are fucking brilliant but also the most willfully oblivious person I have ever met. Do you really think I just like you when I framed a drawing you left for me on a scrap of paper you tore from a notebook? The one I hung in the kitchen so I can look at it every day and think of you? Do you think I just like you when I tattoo it on my skin? I play this fucking game every year and tear my heart out watching you walk away, only to do it all over again, and I like you? You think I just like
...more
“I would kill for you, and I have. I would do it again, every damn day. I’d turn myself inside out for you. I would die for you. I don’t just like you, Sloane, and you fucking know it.”
“Well, I hadn’t made a reservation, so you have nothing to apologize for.” “But you have a standing reservation at 3 in Coach,” Meg says with a sweet, knowing smile. She pulls a thumbtack from her podium and passes me a sheet of paper. Table 12 is PERMANENTLY RESERVED for: —any reservation under the name Sloane Sutherland —a beautiful, black-haired woman with hazel eyes and freckles, 5'8", probably alone, shy, looks like she wants to run Inform Rowan immediately of any reservations under this name or any guests fitting this description.
“Cooking, clearly. I’m still fine-tuning the lunch menu for opening week. I need your help tweaking it.” “I thought we’d already established that cooking is not my strong suit.” “No, we established that you cook perfectly well, we just need to do it together.”
“You’re going to take my cock as deep as you can. You’re going to ride it the way you want until you come all over it. And these tits,” he says as he unzips the back of my dress and pulls the low neckline down along with the cups of my bra, “you’re going to bounce these glorious fucking tits in my face.”
That’s right, baby, take me deeper in that tight little cunt. You’re going to be dripping my cum down those pretty thighs all the way home.
Rowan traces a line up my inner thigh. Two fingers gather the milky rivulet and slide up to my pussy, his eyes already dark with desire as he watches my reaction. “Fuck no,” he rasps as he finger-fucks the cum back into me with slow thrusts. I shudder and moan, my sensitive flesh already desperate for more. “I meant what I said. You’ll be walking home with that mess on your thighs, little bird.”
“Or maybe instead of a competitive game this year, we can play together. We could hunt him as a team.” Sloane snorts a derisive laugh. “Are you afraid of losing again, pretty boy?” “I’m afraid of losing you.”
“I’m counting this as a win.” “That’s fair.” “That’s three for me. Best of five.” “Deserved. Totally.” “And I’m still very angry with you.” “I get it, love.” “I want to stab you.” “Yeah, that makes sense. Please not my dick though. Or my balls. Or my pretty face.”
“You have never been unlovable. You were just waiting for someone who will love you for who you are, not for who they want you to be. I can do that, if you’ll let me.” I press my lips to hers and taste salt and blood but pull away before the kiss deepens. “I fucking adore you, Sloane Sutherland. I wanted you from that first day at Briscoe’s. I have loved you for years. I’m not stopping. Not ever.”
“Sloane Sutherland, my beautiful Blackbird. From the first moment I met you, you changed the course of my life. I can’t remember anything being fun or exciting or new without you. I can’t remember feeling anything but numb until you burst into my world in your smelly little cage of orzo pastas,”
“I can’t envision the future without you in it. And I don’t want to, not ever. So marry me, Sloane, and we’ll go on crazy adventures forever, and fuck shit up, and be best friends and do karate in the garage and make love every day and grow old together. Because I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather spend all those moments with than you.”
Maybe I was right. We’re not normal people. We are monsters. But if we’re monsters, we’ll thrive in the dark. Together.
