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“If I ever lay my hands on you,” he said low and husky, “you’ll want it.”
Being a bitch could be a survival technique. They get respect. There was no honor in people thinking you were a slut.
“You were my tempest, my thunder cloud, my tree in the downpour. I loved all of those things, and I loved you. But now? You’re a fucking drought. I thought that all the assholes drove German cars, but it turns out that pricks in Mustangs can still leave scars.”
We can be confused about what is good for us but not about what we truly want.
