Are you fucking me? do you get this wet? Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. I don’t even…ohhhhh God. It’s all over your legs. Oh baby, I’m gonna fuck you so hard.
Sometimes I’m so afraid of making the wrong choice that I just don’t make any choice at all.
Jesus Christ, you’re soaking wet. Seriously, have you been going around with all this between your legs? I can feel it through fucking flannel, honey. Oh my God, I can feel it through ,” he said, the first words almost steady and sure and the las...
You don’t really have idea about any of that olden-days stuff, do you?” He’s sure he can feel her smiling against his shoulder. “Busted,” she says. “Ah, it’s some nice talk, though, Sol. You make it all sound real nice.” “That’s t...
Certainly seems it when she half-turns in his arms and he just leans right down into her and kisses and kisses. Oh, how syrupy-slow his kisses are. She could live in those warm, wet pulls.
I want to kiss you. I want to so badly I can barely think of anything else. When you enter a room it’s my only thought, and it torments me night and day.
All that matters is the way he’s angling my face up to his, thumb and forefinger still on my jaw and my chin. It makes me think of someone taking a drink, only the drink in question is my lips. He wants to taste me there, and oh, that’s exactly w...
He kisses me until my mouth is sore from his stubble, and most likely cherry red. Then, when he sees its ripe colour, he kisses me more to make up for it. He kisses me between courses and in the middle of them too, licking chocolate from my lips when...
He had lovely eyes, really—not assessing, at all, but big and dark and…waiting.
When she finally pulled away from him—much to Aley’s stuttering forward reluctance—he wanted only to echo Aley’s words: “Oh! Do it again.
I know,” he says, and it’s the strangest thing. I can tell he’s smiling, slow and syrupy, when he says it.
