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Kindle Notes & Highlights
moue.
moue.
miasma.
Truth be told, there was an effortlessness to our rapport that eluded definition,
it felt startlingly casual, effortless, and sure. Our lips slotted together naturally, as though they’d met a thousand times before, our movements intermingling in a soft, steady exchange.
his every breath an echo of my own, as though we’d been moving in tandem from the moment we met and this newfound intimacy was simply a most natural extension, born of some divine inevitability.
pique,
rapaciousness,
How could anything be unnatural when our coupling felt as easy as breathing air? How could the life I’d found with Nye be anything
other than a benediction, full of grace? How could Nye ever be less than everything?
purloining
dourly
strange little intersection between historical fiction and true crime,
