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In case no one’s told you: you’re so pretty when you cry.
The weird fluttering feeling low in my stomach—that I’m starting to learn is in fact metaphorical butterflies—happens again. I know this because I googled it to make sure there wasn’t anything medically wrong with me. “Actually, she’s stalking me.”
Only that isn’t really true, though, is it? I can’t steal something that’s already mine.
“Did you fucking kidnap me?” One sentence I never thought I’d say. “Think of it as protective custody.” His lip twitches in amusement.
“Because I chose to protect you over family—the previous most important thing to me—the Bratva will now be after you. They think I took someone precious from them, and now they will try to take someone precious from me.”
“So, what now? I’m just going to be locked up in here with you like some princess in a tower.” “No, baby. You’re a queen.”
“We’re endgame, baby, and if you don’t see that, you better put that bullet in my head right now because I’m gonna ruin all other men for you when I worship every inch of your body.”
I’m not a religious man, but goddamn if she didn’t make me want to drop to my knees in worship.
“You fucking roll your eyes at me again, I’ll take you across my knee and turn your sweet ass bright red. And you know I’ll enjoy every second of it, so go ahead. Call my bluff, baby.”
“You’re mine, Harlow. My woman, my property, my queen, my fucking whore, if I so choose.”
