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what do I have to do?” This smile is the worst of all because it’s the most genuine. “You’ll do whatever I ask. Come tomorrow evening—and bring that tool bag with you.”
Her smile changes everything about her looks. Without it, she’s barely pretty, but her grin throws the switch at the amusement park. Her whole face lights up, neon bright.
Love is a drug, especially love that blind. I thought I wanted to make her scream, but now I want to make her smile, too. It doesn’t matter what order. I want Remi to look at me like that. In fact, I just might make her.
He’s beautiful in a terrifying way, like a glacier or a sword, those golden eyes cruel as a bird of prey. It’s
“I bet his favorite person is Ted Bundy.”
“Then start stabbin’—‘cause we need to stay in his good graces.”
I love how intent she is on appearing strong and composed, while it’s obvious she’s completely fucked up inside. Takes one to know one, baby.
Hands are my kink—they show everything about a man’s competence. The way they move, the way they touch….a well-shaped hand resting on a steering wheel or shifting gears…I could come just thinking about it.
Dane’s face is expressionless while a thousand thoughts flicker behind his eyes. If I could read them like a book…would I open it? Yes. Every fucking time.
When you want someone for a purpose, you see them in that role. When you want them just because you want them…you see so much more.
That’s what’s beautiful and tragic about human beings—for better or for worse, not a single one can be replaced.
“Emotion can’t be banished. It can only be stuffed down inside to fester.” “And what happens when it festers?” Dane asks. “It rots you from the inside out.”
“We can’t change the past,” Remi says, calm and clear. “We can only change what we do now.”
“Everybody fucks up. And everyone can change. But real change is painful, and for some, it might just kill ‘em.” “Kill them?” “Yes,” he says seriously. “Because you have to kill the part of yourself you don’t like. And for some people…that’s almost all of them.”
Love is action. Love is trust. It’s not words…because words can be lies.
The truth hurts, but it won’t harm you. It’s lies that injure and destroy.
I look into his face, and I see all the openness and intimacy and pure, raw lust of someone who has nothing to hide. He wants me. He loves me. And he’s going to take care of me. But first…he’s going to make me come.
Why do we admit the truth even though it fucking hurts? Because that’s the way it won’t kill us anymore. It is painful to admit hard truths. But it’s incredibly healing to be forgiven and loved in spite of them.
