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I must have a disorder. Asshole Arousal Disorder where I’m only interested in men who ignore me.
“Seems like I’m easily defeated by pompous men in suits who don’t listen to me,”
“You’ve just ruined me forever,” he growls from below me. “I’ll never fucking recover from this.”
“No, I prefer hot-headed foul-mouthed brunettes who never run a brush through their hair, take mice to dinner parties and sleep in beds so damn uncomfortable and tiny, I have to go to a physio.
I want this man from my very core. I’ve never wanted anything more, and that thought terrifies me because to love this deep means I have so, so much to lose.
I watch her walk away, and something inside me breaks into a thousand tiny pieces.
