“I like chokin’ you,” he confesses, biting down on my ear. “I didn’t mean to hurt you before, but fuck, I want my hands wrapped around your throat. I want to take your breath away. I want purple, finger-shaped marks around your neck.” “Do it,” I beg, knowing that I’d die happily if it were by Whaley’s hand. “Fuckin’ hurt me. I love you so much. I wanna die for you.”
