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I wanted to live in a world of pear-shaped women and wear those thighs as earmuffs every night. Every damn night.
Give me all your hellfire, honey. Give me your worst.
If this isn’t Deacon coded…
I wasn't depressed. Not anxious. I just lived with a simmering cauldron of rage and contempt for the assholes and idiots of the world, and that took up a lot of my time.
There was no getting her out of my system, not when the only thing I required in this life was to know what Sara looked like when she woke up and what she felt like curled around me in the middle of the night, and what she liked to do when she wasn't busy screeching and whether I could keep her with me for the rest of my time on this earth.
I couldn't keep drawing the map. It hurt to create something and have no one notice.
Sebastian! My baby!!
"You don't know anything. You think I'm awful." He brought his chin to the top of my head, let out a sigh that would've sounded like contentment coming from anyone else. "I don't think you're awful at all."
"You know you've earned it. You know you deserve it. Stop fighting, sweetheart. Give it to me."
He lost himself in my body like I was a treasure rather than a messy perfectionist with a savage heart and an irritable gut.
Admit it, for once, that you love battling me. That you can push and push and push, and the only thing I'm ever going to do is pull your hair and fuck you harder."
