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He smells of sin.
Work, of course. Keep calm and carry the fuck on; smile through the pain like strong little Lydia always does.
With a dab or two of concealer we’d be back to business-as-usual.
She was trying so hard, but the sadist in me couldn’t resist.
Colleagues were no go. An absolute no-fucking-way.
Turns out Mr Perfect was Mr damn fucking Bossy, too. It suited him.
Fuck no-one you know, and know no-one you fuck.
Work flings have trouble written all over them with a capital TROUBLE.
“It’s beautiful. For someone’s back?” “Chest, although the tail curls all the way around the ribs to the spine.”
I should have been grateful to him, relieved at the possibility of her disappearance from the open market, but all I felt was hate.
“Single and sane, private and proud.”
I want to know every part of you, every secret of your body. Every secret.”
Release and pain and beautiful, beautiful love.
