More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
There was one universal truth to life: no one looked elegant after a chop to the trachea.
Whoever was in charge of the universe was a piece of shit.
Another melodramatic male with deep personal issues that needed extensive therapy. Check.
“Finally, someone recognizes I’m a badass bitch,” I said with relief as we finally began to travel forward. “He said ‘bitch,’ not ‘badass.’” Cobra rolled his eyes. I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at him. “Please, we all know what he meant.”
Someday, I was going to make every fantasy I’d ever had of maiming him come true. It would be a treat to myself. Self-care, if you will.
No way was I flashing people for free. They better at least pay me first. It was called knowing your worth and having class.
One thing was consistent in both realms—men were so dramatic. It was exhausting.
When you woke up and went to sleep every night knowing you were powerless, it changed you. It hardened you. Not in a good way.
Men needed to be reminded that they were problematic. Often.
Either there was something wrong with me, or men were generally unwell and at the root of all problems in society. It was definitely the latter.
A small part of me noticed how hot Xerxes looked while licking blood off a dagger. I ignored that part of myself. She was unwell and beyond saving.
I liked to pretend I represented vertically challenged people everywhere.
Rationally, it didn’t matter, and I was a bad bitch who didn’t need a man. Irrationally, I was a woman who just wanted to get railed and told I was pretty.
The thing about mental breakdowns was, even though you were having one, the world didn’t stop around you.
So true
I wanted a good smut book where the female lead was worshipped like a queen and dicked down by multiple men repeatedly. All day. Every day. Constant dicking. Also, the lead men needed to be super sweet and supportive. No growling, posturing, sneering, or excessive alpha testosterone. Just excessive cuddling, hand-holding, complimenting, and kissing.
Sure, I lived with my scars and didn’t absolutely hate myself. Your skin didn’t define you. The problem was, in the eyes of everyone else, my body was hideous and broken. I was tired of everyone else defining me.
Therapy Topics running—Cruel and unusual punishment. Should it be classified as torture? Dick—No explanation needed. alpha men—No explanation needed.
