Secrets

by Sophie Grace

To the girlies who want a 6’4” bad boy to treat them like a princess but fuck them like a criminal.

Tell me, baby, is there enough room on your book boyfriend list for me? Even if there is, I don’t share. Sincerely, Harry St. James

“I’ve read enough dark romance novels to know shit like that isn’t always a bad thing.”

The only person I’ve had sex with in recent months is Greg, and it’s been so vanilla it’s practically flavourless.

“I want to kiss you one last time with innocence on your tongue. I want to feel you one last time without hatred polluting your lungs. I want to kiss you unforgivingly and selfishly,” he says. “Because as soon as I tell you my secrets, you’ll never want me to kiss you again.” My heart races.

“Look at me when I fuck you.” I open my eyes as his forehead meets mine. “I want this sight to be forever etched into your brain, princess.” “Oh God.” “Even he won’t save you from me, Gigi.”

“Because that last gentlemanly instinct you think I have will vanish after you hear the stuff I want to do to you.”

“Are you crazy?”

“No, baby. I’m fucking obsessed. There’s a difference.”

“Ride my cock,” I tell her, digging my fingers into her sides. “Ride it in a way that would make your boyfriend proud, baby.”

“Your words say one thing and your pussy says another. You don’t hate me, baby.”

“Baby,” he replies, his voice low and all for me, “if I can’t have you in this life, you

can bet your fucking ass I’m claiming you in death.”

“No one talks about harming my woman and gets away with something as simple as a bullet wound.”