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Why does the Lord put such horrible things in such nice-looking packages?
there is something about being physically near someone but unable to connect that is more isolating than actually being alone.
Colton must sense my panic because slowly he slides his hand from my mouth down to my neck. Oh fuck. A hand necklace? Jesus, that’s even hotter.
“That’s not the reaction I expected with my hand wrapped around your neck, Tiger.”
“I want to spend every minute with that man in any way that he’ll have me. Especially if a minute is all we get.”
“So, you’ve lied to the sheriff, you partied with the townies, and now you’re at my bar? You trying to make a life here, Tiger? Or just trying to weasel your way into mine?”
“How many of those have you had?” “Just the one.” I lift an eyebrow. “Why?” “I want to make sure you have a clear head when I ask you to leave with me later.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night at the rest stop. All that strength. All that fire. Your brazen, idiotic disregard for your own safety when you risked pissing off a dangerous stranger because you thought someone was in trouble and needed your help. I thought I could ignore this feeling. I thought I could ignore you. But I can’t.”
“I’m going to need you to come again, this time while I’m buried inside you. Can you do that for me, Tiger? Can you come on my cock?”
I’m coming to learn that sometimes a found family is even better than the ones we’re assigned at birth.
