She was falling apart beneath my hands, and I was falling apart beneath her. My power was her power, and together, we sent each other soaring.
My heart and my cock seemed to like the idea, and Whitney made me a slave to both, so my wits were outnumbered.
Fiction is just that–fiction. Yes, it is serious business, but it should also be taken for face value. It’s entertainment. It’s escapism. It’s 365 pages of relaxation.
Love couldn’t be moved by circumstance, poor choices, or even blatant lies—skewed and damaged, yes, but the heart couldn’t deny what it wanted most once the desire was planted. Whether in bliss or affliction, love owned you all the same.
Forgiveness wasn’t ever easy, but a feat much more manageable when you weren’t the subject of its grace. Maybe I’d always be a broken recipient of grace. And in that musing, I found rest.
Don’t start that again. It’s not my fault you don’t have any masculine aprons.””That’s because aprons aren’t masculine, genius.””Don’t make me have you for dinner, princess.””Whatever, Betty Crocker. Knock yourself out.
With the many uncertainties, of one thing I was sure. I could not escape love, the very thing that had kept me mobile since the day I realized I was capable of giving and receiving it.
I did not have all the answers. I did not know if I’d deserved God’s grace or wrath, or what would become of me if I ever fled this town.But I did know how to shoot a gun. – Skylla Warden
So help me, if something crawls out of one of these bags, I will castrate you.”“I bet you’d love that.”-Emma and Jackson
It was amazing the things you could bring yourself to do when you felt insecure, when you were out to protect your heart. You could deny it what it wants most, just for the sake of saving your pride or dodging another bullet.
This was our rhythm, our worship: give and take, gift and receive, honor and entrust. Making love to this man wasn’t just an expression of my feelings for him or a carnal, physical need—it was an offering.
Emma has it wrong. You don’t ditch your men, you kill them.”“I won’t kill you.” She stepped in front of me and took my hand, watching me take the last drag of my cigarette. “I like you too much.
It wouldn’t be long until I made my declaration. I didn’t just need my position to be clear, I needed to blind Whitney with blazing fireballs of glory. Real hardcore knock-em-down shit.
My guitar’s name was Liz. As in, short for Elizabeth, Queen of England. She was a lady.Don’t judge.