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Eye contact is the language that no one can speak, but chemistry is fluent with; it’s the language of fate. It’s two souls catching on fire without a single word being spoken.
“If you want to break free, Little Dovey, I would advise you not to scream.” His other hand comes up to the front of my throat, and he clenches. “It gets my dick hard, and you don’t want that.”
Intimacy is just like murder; they both make your heart race and your palms sweat while leaving your thoughts in disarray, but then when you’re done, you’re left with the remnants of someone else’s soul or blood on your hands.
No one can tell you what is wrong art or what is right art. If you don’t see what the artist wants you to see, then that art is simply not for you—that doesn’t make it wrong.
“When you dance, Dove, you create a new world. You captivate the entire audience. There’s peace in your movements.”
“Yeah, but always remember that in peace always lies havoc.”
“I’m not playin’ this game, baby. You know who the fuck I am now. Don’t fucking test me.”
I wasn’t saved by Prince Charming. I was saved by a villain, and fuck being on his warpath.
“Maybe because I’ve always been and always will be yours.”
She will always be not just my soul mate, but my better half.
