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Brought down by a woman with black hair and dark eyes. A sexy wit and a sexier body. A bartender, coupon clipper, temp worker. A college drop out turned party girl, with loose morals and legs that rarely closed. So much better than him, in every way, shape, and form.
“What are we, if we don't have games?” “Something else.”
I want you to not exist anymore. I want you to just go away,” Tate cried, trying to pull her wrists free. Not exist? But I made her. She's mine. You can't exist if I don't, stupid girl.
He turned away and forced himself not to look back. If he looked back, he would be lost forever, and if he was lost, he certainly wouldn't be able to find her again.
You're such a stupid girl – only you would fall for the devil. Only you would be stupid enough to think he'd fall for you, as well.
He was bad. He was wrong. He was the devil.
“You are entitled to think what you want, but that does not make it accurate.
she was like sunshine. And Jameson's life was very dark.
While he had been so busy trying to warn her away, he hadn't even noticed himself falling into her. Now Jameson couldn't tell where she began and he ended.
No one ever said hell was an easy place to live.
“Why do you need everything to be so clearly defined? Because society says A plus B equals C, then we're nothing? Sometimes X divided by 4.3 equals fuck all,
“I think I liked you better when you were all damaged and weepy.” “God, you're going to burn in a special place in hell.” “Probably. At least I'll have memories of you to keep me happy.”
when Jameson kissed her, she could feel it. However the love songs wanted to put it, that's how she felt it. In her heart, in her toes, in her spleen, in her hair follicles, everywhere.
If you had died, Tate ..., there are no words. I would have been very sad. And not just because I had done something bad, I want you to know. I would have been sad because my world is a very lonely place without you.”
“Mi nombre es Jameson ... Santiago ... Agustin ... Kraven Kane,” he said it slowly, tracing the first initial of each name on her skin. He's branding me.
“I don't hate women, Tate. I love women,” he said, kissing his way to her ankle. “I love the way they feel, their skin, their smell. The way they taste, the sounds they make.”
This is most definitely not a game anymore. This woman ... she owns me.
Houston, we're so far beyond having a problem that we're just completely fucked.
I am going to one of the darkest recesses of hell. Good thing I've already been there once.
“It was only ever you,” Jameson whispered. “Two weeks ago, four months ago, seven years ago. This whole time. Always you.”
