Dirty Rowdy Thing

Come in. Sit anywhere but on the bed. Don't look cute, don't get undressed, and don't touch my underwear.

I've got to hand it to her," Harlow says, reaching for an onion ring. "Wonder Woman just keeps proving she's got it." "I'm completely confused," Mia says. "That's because Ansel's over there trying to suck your soul out through your mouth like some sort of Dementor," Harlow says, and then whispers in my direction, "It's a Harry Potter reference, Sunshine. Keep up.

The stars could fall, the ocean could take over the land, and I wouldn’t even realize it until long after Finn slows his hips and runs his hand up my leg and along my side, until he reaches my jaw, cupping it and telling me he’s never wanted anything the way he wants me.

Money can’t buy you happiness, but happiness sure is a hell of a lot easier to find when you’re not worried about where your next meal is coming from.

I’ve never met anyone like her, as strong-willed as me and yet, just handing me everything, letting me take her apart one touch at a time.

Finn could break your vagina and be just handy enough to put it back together.

So these are you brothers, huh?" "Yeah." "Well, thanks for this. I might need to go home and masturbate for the rest of the evening." "You know, if a guy said that, it would be super creepy." "Oh, I'm sorry, Poodle. Does the sexual double standard make you grumpy?

How is Mia, anyway?” I ask. Ansel looks up at me with the most goofy, dimpled smile I’ve ever seen. “Perfect.” “Ugh,” Oliver says, setting his fork down. “Do not get him started. Lola says she’s had to start warning them before she comes over. Last time she could hear them all the way down Julianne’s driveway.” Ansel only shrugs, looking disgustingly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I am quite the vocal lover, and would never stifle the loud, satisfied cries of my wife during what is possibly the best sex anyone has ever had.” He leans in, looks us both in the eye in turn, and repeats, “Ever”.

He could only do rowdy because he felt what I felt: that whip-crack unleashing that comes when you meet the person who frees you

I want to be good to you.” He rolls me to face him, and kisses me once before admitting, “I’m just fucking wild for you.” “I think I spotted that just now,” I whisper. “I mean,” he clarifies, “the I love you kind of wild.

My voice of reason is always Lola. "You're a jackass." "You only say that when I'm being your voice of reason." "Out of my head, witch. And don't piss me off, I tell her. "I'll buy you underwear one size too small for Christmas and make you hate life.

I never expected falling in love with someone would just make me feel even more comfortable in my own skin. I sort of want to tell him, 'I think I love you' because I suspect he would make a soft sound of sympathy and agree that it's unfortunate timing.

I’m gonna tie you up and kiss that sweet pussy for a while. I want to hear you say my name when you come on my lips.

I’m woman enough to admit that I’m completely obsessed with his forearms. They’re roped, thick, every single muscle defined. I want to see him haul a big net onto the deck of his ship. God, he would make majestic fisherman porn.

hold her close, tight, in just the way I know she wants. My thumb moves down to press against her throat, not with intent, but just enough to let her know I have her.

Do people call you Ollie?” Lola asked. Oliver looked at her, completely dumbfounded by the possibility of this nickname. She may as well have asked him if people call him Garth, or Andrew, or Timothy. “No,” he said flatly, and the only thing charming about him was the way his accent seemed to run through every vowel with one syllable. Lola’s eyebrow twitched in her single tell—mildly annoyed—and she lifted her flashing LED drink cup to her lips. Lola wears mostly black, including her glossy dark hair, and has a tiny diamond pierced into her lip, but, even still, she’s never been able to pull off the full physical manifestation of the angry Riot Grrrl. With her perfect porcelain skin and the longest eyelashes in the world, she’s simply too delicate. But once she decides you’re an asshole, it no longer matters to her what you think. She gives good glare. “The flower suits you,” she said, tilting her head to study him. “And you have pretty hands, kind of soft. Maybe we should call you Olive.” He grunted out a dry laugh. “And a really beautiful mouth,” I added. “Gentle. Like a woman’s.” “Aw fuck off.” He was laughing outright by then.

I’ve said more nonsex words to Harlow in the past five minutes than I did the entire time she was in Canada, but I’m surprised to find that not only is she easy to talk to, she’s fun. “And, my impression of you is ever evolving, now that you aren’t just a pretty face in my lap.” “You’re one classy motherfucker, Finn.” “This speaking thing does wonders for expanding our horizons.

You did so good.” I press my lips to her shoulder, drag my nose up her neck, and groan in her ear. “You did so fucking good, sweet girl.

Despite what film and music would have women believe, the guys are all hopeless when it comes to the female orgasm. They learn sex from watching porn, where giving the camera a good view is the goal and no one really cares if it works for the girl, because she'll pretend it's awesome regardless. Sex happens up close, and inside, not at camera's length. Guys seem to forget that.

Are you already drunk?" "No. Just... in a weird mood." And it's true. I feel unsteady like if I stop moving I'll crack and the crazy will spill out onto the street like a pool of oil.

as if the ocean wrapped around him when he was small and never let go.

He tastes like salt and air, as if the ocean wrapped around him when he was small and never let go.

MY THOUGHTS ARE stacked like a deck of cards and I have to continually shuffle the top one to the back of the pile.

Why did you come up my way anyway? I never got around to asking you that because you were sitting on my face most of the time.

These red marks that tell the room and the sky and the swollen moon outside for only a tiny trip of time: I belong to him. My body is his.

couldn’t be. He could only do rowdy because he felt what I felt: that whip-crack unleashing that comes when you meet the person who frees you.

Figure out how to balance Oliver with a career you’ve wanted your whole life,” he tells me. “Because you’ll end up with neither if you think you have to choose.