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The guard smiles. It reminds me of when the sunlight hits a jewel.
“You don’t need to ask me for anything, Luscious,” he rumbles, gaze cutting into me like goddamn razors. “I’ll give it to you, regardless.”
I can’t get carried away with this obsession…
Maybe we’re two mangled, jagged pieces who could click together, despite all the fires burning around us.
I want Dascha Reznikov to be my broken toy, in all ways. And I have a habit of getting what I want, especially when it’s the thing that could be my untimely demise.
“Don’t cuff me. Please. I’ll be good.”
He’s Satan. That’s who he is. I’ve been fucking around with Lucifer himself.
I think Officer Kemper and I are a thing. Where’s the vodka when you need it?
I take care of what’s mine.
I think I miss him, and I don’t want to. I don’t know if I should…
I fear how much I crave him, and the things he does to me.
“I want to fucking live inside you, Dascha,”
“I have nothing that I want as much as I want you,”
He’s the best treat I could ever indulge in.
I love him. He’s the best symptom of whatever crazy lives in my head.
He’s a wonder, an enigma.
