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A woman’s heart isn’t meant to be toyed with. Once touched, it has the power to level cities, make happy homes turn to dust, and obliterate a man’s ego.
His eyes radiate something that practically sears my flesh from my body. It’s a look of disbelief—one of twisted passion, a look of absolute obsession. My pulse instantly spikes in fear of it.
Our lips connect, and I’m like a man starved. Kissing Montana is like touching a live wire. It hurts like hell, and shocks your system entirely, but you just can’t let go. You can’t stop, because even if it’s torture to your soul in all the worst ways, the conductive force that she contains would find you again and again until she ends you so tragically. There’s no use in letting go.
