Hans (Alliance, #4)

by S.J. Tilly

It feels dry, and when I pick it up, little pieces fall off. But I’ll take my cookies crumbly over wet, like the last batch. Opening wide, I shove the whole thing into my mouth. My throat closes involuntarily, the intense campfire taste overwhelming my senses. But I chew. Needing a little help, I step to the sink and turn on the tap. I bend and put my mouth under the stream and gulp some water. Then I shove another whole cookie into my mouth. What the fuck is wrong with me? Not wanting to dirty one of Cassandra’s containers, and not willing to leave them behind, I stack the cookies to make them easy to carry. I can hold eight in my hand, but she made a full dozen. I work to swallow the burned corn, then I cram two more cookies in. I’ve tasted Cassandra at the source. I don’t need to settle for her awful baking anymore. But that doesn’t matter. If anyone so much as thought about eating what she made for me, I’d slice their stomach out of their body.

crazy aSS BITCH /pos