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For all the book lovers who break free from their stifling beginnings. May your middle and end have lots of hot, dirty sex.
“You’re fucking starving. For more. For someone to see you. For someone to take you seriously when you stop pretending you want this kind of life.”
“You don’t run from this, Ari. Not when I’ve been starving for you. Not when I need you more than my next fucking breath.”
And then, his voice, low and dark, vibrates against me. “Don’t say his name while you’re riding my face.”
“Yeah?” He leans in closer, his voice barely a whisper. “Then tell me why you’re wearing the clothes I picked out and bought for you… why you smell like me…” His thumb drags over my hip, where last night’s bruises are starting to bloom. “…and why I can feel you shaking beneath my touch, like you can’t fucking wait for me to do it again?”
“Angel, the only way I’d ever hurt you is if you begged me for it. If you got on your knees, looked up at me with those pretty, desperate eyes, and asked me nicely.”
“You’re impossible.” I tilt my head, my voice dipping lower. “I’m inevitable.”
“You’re mine,” he hisses, cracked and reverent, every syllable seeping into my bones. “My perfect little angel. That’s my girl.”
“I think I’m the man who’d die for her. I think I’m the man who wouldn’t trade her for a promotion or a calendar full of conference calls. I’d never even think of letting let her settle for less than what she fucking deserves. And just so we’re clear—neither of us deserve her—but I’m the only one who’d burn this whole fucking world to the ground just to keep her.”
