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These men are the Khakis—white hetero men of mediocre competence and undeserved confidence who wouldn’t know their way to a clitoris if someone strung them over a swamp rife with testicle-eating crocodiles.
Rafe Gallagher is a fucking eleven out of ten.
Trishara!”
He’s so magnetic, he’s the North Pole.
He’s the King of Hearts, demanding my head. My stomach drops, and my skin breaks out in a sheen of sweat that has nothing to do with the humidity.
try to tame my eyes. To get them to cooperate, but they’re drawn to Rafe like flowers to sunshine.
Rafe moves closer, and even after a workout, he smells so good that I kind of want to lick him like a chocolate-dipped
do hate you, Tris. I hate you very much.”
Rafe Gallagher is giving me some very mixed signals.
I’ve always understood how we fit together. In our own dysfunctional way, we’ve always made sense. But the ground is shifting, and I can feel him erasing all of my carefully drawn lines.
Rafe’s face breaks into a slow, steady grin, hitting me with the heat of a thousand suns.
“I want someone who makes me feel a little like I’m… burning in the best kind of way.”
I guess I’m looking for someone that makes me feel… safe.”
What I meant was it’s hard to believe you’re an introvert because you shine in every room you enter.”
“There’s nothing unmissable about you. That’s all I meant. That there isn’t anywhere you could go where everyone wouldn’t notice you.”
The Rafe who comforted me last night and held my hand and chose to stay with me instead of abandoning me. The Rafe I pushed away, but who always existed in my periphery like the moon circling the earth.
“Rafe, why did you draw me?”
“Because I draw things that are beautiful to me.”
“Your ass is so fucking hot in that skirt, I want to fall to my knees and worship it.”
A break on the rocks. A star dropped from the sky. This. Is. A. Reckoning. Ships sink. Tornadoes spin. Volcanoes erupt. No one has ever kissed me like this. He breathes my name, and I say it back because this is all I am right now. He tastes like sunshine and longing, and I lap up every drop. His
But I’ve looked into the sun and cant ever go back. Rafe has ruined me forever.
“I’d rather it was balled up on the floor with my face between your thighs.”
He’s the villain about to ravish the princess, and I am here for all the ravishing.
He groans in appreciation, feasting and savoring in a way no man has ever done before. His enthusiasm borders on feral, and this is more decadent than a seven-tiered cake layered with French buttercream.
“Who were you planning to have sex with?” he asks, ripping open the box. “I don’t know, but it sure as hell wasn’t you,” I deadpan. “Then, call me the luckiest bastard in the universe.”
I love those eyes. They’re rocky trails winding through forests. They’re warm spice cakes and mugs of tea sipped at sunrise. They’re autumn landscapes rendered in vivid technicolor.
And it’s at that moment I realize I’m in love with Rafe Gallagher. Maybe a part of me was from the very start.
