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“Oh, my little muse. We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I. Well, not identical cloth, but it’s similar enough. And if I have to prove it, so be it.”
you feel so perfect in my hand. It’s a waste not to touch you.”
An inexplicable urge flows through me. A rush that’s impossible to shake off or ignore. And it goes by the name of Landon freaking King.
“Stop being so psychotic.” “Stop being so cute.”
The reality of my situation clears as slowly as a fog. My upper half is hanging outside and the other half dangles inside the balcony, my feet not touching the ground.
“Bleed for me.” Thrust. “Break for me.” Thrust. “Make me your one and only.”
“You’re becoming a dangerous addiction, little muse.”
And it’s really not a wise idea to think of him as the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen when he seems to be on the verge of squashing me between his fingers.
