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I have a misplaced theory that if you’re not suffering, you’re not loving hard enough, deep enough—and that’s just not healthy.
I expect passion and butterflies, and one or two fairy tale moments. When we fight, I want it to hurt. When we fuck, I want to feel it with every fiber of my being. When a man confesses his love to me, I expect him to mean it. I don’t want to question the words’ authenticity. I want to be claimed and owned and ruled and possessed by love.
We crave the all-consuming, soul-stealing, drama-filled romances that are destined to end badly. I inherited my heart from her, and it’s relentless.
My greatest hope is to be in all-consuming love. My biggest fear is to be in all-consuming love.
“Elle est trop belle. Trop intelligente. Mais trop jeune. Cette fille sera ta perte . . .” She is too beautiful. Too smart. But too young. This girl will be your undoing.
“You catchin’ feelings for me, Pup?”
“It’s okay to want his dick, baby, I’ll watch it go inside you and fucking love the view, and the savage it’ll make me.”
“Eggs—runny, coffee—black, beer—cold, music—loud, cars,” he floors the gas. “Fast,” I say through a laugh. “Woman,” he turns and rolls his mirror-colored gaze over me. Woman, not women.
“You know me.” The gentle timbre of his voice has my eyes watering. “You know my mind and my heart. You know me. I made sure of it. But this is my world, our world, and if you want in, you have another decision to make.”
“My rainy days are yours, Dominic. If you want them.” “It rains a lot here,” he says after a few long beats.
“Don’t knock romance books. From the last one I read, I learned how to play a solitary card game, snagged the barbecue recipe I cooked today, and discovered how to bring myself to a proper orgasm, which means I can do all three without you. This makes me fully capable of entertaining myself. Coming here, in this dress, and cooking for you was a decision, and like all decisions, it was optional.”
Drunk with lust and love, I tap-danced along the devil’s tongue only to end up in his throat.
These men are infuriating, not only because they are willing to abandon me so easily without ample explanation but because they expect me to fall back to sleep after they’d strapped me to an electric chair.
