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“The two scenarios where I feel like I’ve made a fucking difference in this world are when I hit one of my guys in the end zone and when I watch a woman come for me.”
“I like the way you kiss,” she whispers. “I like the way you feel. The way you breathe when I touch you… you’re gorgeous, Madison.”
The praise she gives, knowing how earnest it is coming from her, sweeps over me. Leaving me wanting her even more than I thought I did before. More than I thought I could. This girl is like a riptide, pulling me under with every confession she makes.
I need to be careful with her. Pace this out and make sure none of it is rushed because the last thing I want is for her to regret it. Regret me. Because fuck if I don’t suddenly care about how she feels about me.
All kids are kind of assholes sometimes. They’re figuring things out. Life is hard when you’re little and can’t make your own decisions.”
“Don’t worry about not being sexy. Everything you do is sexy. You yell at me about the Regency era, it’s sexy. You stomp up this ladder pissed at me, it’s sexy. You eat ice cream and it’s fucking sexy. I promise you’re good.”
It’s been a long fucking time since I’d heard anything approaching praise out of anyone. I eat it up like I’m starved.
Somehow her hand is through my chest, wrapped around my heart and I belong to her with just those few words. I’m gone. I’m hers.
“I’ve never wanted a guy the way I want you.” I confess. “I want you more than I can ever remember wanting anything in my life.”
“I won’t break you. Don’t break me?” My heart pounds in my chest at the idea this man thinks I have any ability to make him feel anything that strongly and I nod. “Deal.”
