Oh gods, he makes me want to pull my hair out. He’s like a walking supply of endless innuendos, smirks, and glares. “I’m not much of a screamer, and I doubt you’ll turn me into one.” He takes several steps closer, my heart pounding every time his boots thump against the wood, and leans down to whisper, “We’ll see about that, angel.”
Stop i cant im squealing
