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“It’s exhausting being everyone’s afterthought.”
preach.
I lowered my head and brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this, Tempest.” Her breath stuttered, but she whispered, “Don’t stop.”
“my dad was... destroyed. Completely shattered. He tried to hide it from us kids, but I remember waking up at night and hearing him crying in their bedroom.” I swallowed hard. “He never really recovered. Not completely.” Tempest’s expression softened, but she remained silent, giving me space to continue. “I was six, but I understood enough. Loving someone that much meant losing them could break you. And that scared the hell out of me.” I met her eyes. “The two-week rule started in high school. Long enough for fun, short enough that no one got attached. Especially me.”
GOOD LUCK SOLDIER.
“I’ve got skills with ropes you haven’t even seen.”
“Baby, I haven’t even started. You’re going to be soaked,” I challenged, reaching out to grab her up.
“Good girl. Now I’m going to kiss you until you go weak in the knees.”
pausing at my stomach to kiss my belly button, nibble at the stretch marks on the curve of my hip, suck on the soft flesh of my inner thigh.
“Spread your thighs so I can fuck your wet pussy with my mouth and make you come.”
Loving her wasn’t scary. It was the easiest, most natural thing I’d ever done.
“My queen, I’m a D1 athlete about to go pro. I’ve been training my body my entire life. I’m not some breakable toy. If I’m not man enough to have my girl ride me like a cowgirl, I don’t know what I have all these muscles for.”
“Be a good girl and come hard on my cock.”
Why were the sweet, innocent ones always the ones with the best imaginations? And by best I meant utterly kinky and wicked.
“Nothing a night out won’t fix. Just need to find someone to either be a rebound or break my heart again.”
Gryff hit the floor right away and had men and women hitting on him in no time.
“Good,” Abuela said firmly. “Courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s action in the face of it. And you, mi amor, have more courage than you know.”
Romance novels are—” “Joy,” Abuela interrupted firmly. “They are joy and hope and the promise that everyone deserves love. Even girls who look like us, who take up space, who have curves and opinions and don’t fit into little boxes.”
“Love is not about someone rescuing you, mi amor. It’s about having someone who stands beside you when you rescue yourself.”
“You might. That’s life. But I promise you, as someone who’s been through the worst of it, the regret of playing it safe is far more painful than the grief of having loved fully.”
“I know. I miss her too. Every day. But Flynn, I wouldn’t trade a single moment with her, even knowing how it would end.”
