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My favorite books, love songs, movies, the ones that resonated with me, have kept me grieving long after I turned the last page, the notes faded out, or the credits rolled.
The only love I’ve ever known or craved is the kind that keeps me sick, sick with longing, sick with lust, sick with need, sick with grief. The distorted kind that leaves scars and jaded hearts.
“Miss me, Pup?”
She glances over her shoulder. “Those boys, pretty as they are, I think might have the devil inside them.”
“Now time?” “It’s the only measure of time that matters. Time itself is just an invisible line, a measure people made up, right? You know that. And while it’s good for reference, it’s also a major stress trigger, because you’re letting it control you.”
Now is the only thing you have control over, and even so, it’s an illusion.”
“So, I’m thinking you don’t have social media?” He sighs. “Fuck no. Hell no—the worst thing we’ve ever done is give everyone a microphone and a place to use it.”
He yanks me to him, and I lose a little bit of breath as he eyes my mouth. “My house, my rules. You cook for one of us. You cook for all of us.”
expect passion and butterflies, and one or two fairy tale moments. When we fight, I want it to hurt. When we fuck, I want to feel it with every fiber of my being. When a man confesses his love to me, I expect him to mean it. I don’t want to question the words’ authenticity. I want to be claimed and owned and ruled and possessed by love.
My greatest hope is to be in all-consuming love. My biggest fear is to be in all-consuming love.
the man who I spent the last week ghosting but who continues to haunt my every thought. “You think I’d let you get away that easily?” Hazel eyes glitter down at me, along with the dazzling smile I can’t banish from my thoughts.
“That may be, but I assumed you could take a hint.” His eyes flare and his jaw twitches. “Don’t play bitch. I like you too much.”
“It’s okay to want his dick, baby, I’ll watch it go inside you and fucking love the view, and the savage it’ll make me.”
“There’s a beauty to keeping a secret, Cecelia. But it can only remain one if you choose to guard it. Years from now, when you’re toasting with your friends during Sunday brunch, before the bitching commences, this secret can be the subtle smile that tilts those beautiful lips before you take your first sip of champagne. Everyone has them, but not many can keep them.”
“You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than you can in a year of conversation.”
“My rainy days are yours, Dominic. If you want them.” “It rains a lot here,” he says after a few long beats. “Fine with me. But my sunny days belong to Sean.”
