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A sense of familiarity fills the space between us even though I know we haven’t met. This man is a stranger, but he looks at me as if he wants to know me. He looks at me as if he already does. There’s an intensity to his eyes when they sweep over my face, as firm and as telling as a touch.
I’ve met a million men in my life. Shaken hands. Smiled. I’ve never felt as seen through as I do right now. Never felt like someone has turned me inside out, every dark secret exposed to the harsh light. He sees my weaknesses, and from the cruel set of his mouth, he likes them.
Something about the otherworldly glow of those eyes whispers to me, like a melody I’ve heard before.
His lips brush my temple. “Soon, little virgin.” “Don’t call me that.” My voice trembles only a little, revealing the turmoil inside me. “What else should I call you? Princess? Darling?” “You could call me by my name.” He dips his head, his mouth right by my ear, his voice just a breath. “There’s only one thing I’m going to call you. Mine.”
The possession in his voice makes me shiver. “Never.” But a little voice inside my head says, Not yet.
“You can run away, little virgin. But you...
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“It’s perfect,” Gabriel says, sounding almost reverent. “You’re perfect.”
“Tonight. When you’re in bed, alone. In the dark. Lock the door if you need to. No one will walk in on you. Touch yourself and make yourself feel good. You remember how to do that, don’t you?”
“All you have to give them is your body. Your mind, your soul—that’s your leverage.”
I hate how well he can read me. “You don’t know anything about me.” “I know I could make you come in two minutes.”
About war. About opposition. About standing tall in a rain of bullets.
There’s something feral about this man, a fire that burns inside him, untamed.
I’m a little freaked out by Gabriel’s uncanny knowledge of me. Justin got me a tennis bracelet for our last anniversary, shiny and bland. This is officially the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. From the man I hate the most.
Every myth has some basis in fact, which is why the study of ancient history is so important. Archeology can uncover some of the secrets. Myths whisper the rest of what we know. In that way myths provide more room for error
and more room for discovery.
“You don’t taste sweet,” he says, pausing. “You taste like I’m fucking dying and you’re the
only water around. You taste like goddamn air.”
Life isn’t about what you deserve, it’s about making the best of what you have.
You can have my body, I think. But you can’t touch my heart.
It’s me. What’s going on?? Justin just called me. He might have cried. He’s very drunk. CALL ME. Were you in an auction? Type OMFG for yes or n for no. Pigeons. Flags. Letter in a bottle. All acceptable forms of communication in this FUCKING EMERGENCY.
Except what remains of the woman that she had been? If you have to change to be loved, then how much is that love worth?
He means that his father dealt in human trafficking. That my father had too.
“You hurt me, you know.” “What?” “Whenever I think about you, I hurt.” He puts a hand to his chest. “Here.”
The heart is the cruelest enemy of all.
That’s the story of how I end up in a limo two hours after I lost my virginity.
