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That’s the scary thing about love. It blurs the lines of right and wrong. You choose to ignore what you should question because it’s dangerous and thrilling at the same time.
he runs a hand through his dark hair, the action opening his leather jacket and showing me the black grip of his gun.
“You belong to me now, Haven. And it’s time to go home.”
I will stand up for my wife. But I will make sure every motherfucker knows I control her. I own her.
His lips devour mine a second later. His kiss is like pain—it demands to be felt. So fucking much that it makes me weak in the knees.
“You belong to me. And I won’t share you. Do you understand?”
