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Not that giving up control is always a bad thing. It’s all about context, and let’s just say that I don’t trust whiskey to respect my safeword.
Dead is dead, no matter how hot your murderer is.
Who are you, Little Sparrow? Will you let me close if I promise to be everything you need? We could be so beautifully dangerous together. Until then, I’ll keep watching.
“My god, you have an obsession with disposing of dead bodies,” I grumble,
“You’re a sweet little murder marshmallow, aren’t you?” I tease gently, and he lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a choked sob. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
“Women can be dicks, men can be cunts. You’ve gotta break your gendered thinking,” Alessio says, tapping his temple for emphasis.
two weeks ago, Xaviaro drove me to my apartment so I could grab different clothes and a few other things, and then I just… never went home again.
