“See what love does? It makes you weak. Kills you."
Warm breath feathered over her scalp as Remy pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "It also gives people something to live for," he whispered.”
“What got up your ass?"-Haley
"Your finger, once or twice." -Remy”
“you think I"m that desperate?"
"The raging hard-on jabbing at me says yes."
“You play dirty, Haley." he breathed. "But this is my show."
"I can take care of myself"
"Not like I can."
"Do you want me to stop?"
"Then say it. Say it's my show."
“I don't know what you want, Haley. Just because you got me off doesn't mean I have to engage in post-fuck chat. So back off.”
“Coming sounds like a good idea, Haley," he murmured in her ear.
"Are you going to come for me, with me, again and again, until you can't stand it anymore, until you can't see straight?"
"Is that what you want?" she asked.
"Not want. Need." He gripped her hips and urged her down to her knees.
"Need to fuck you, right here. Need to be inside you now."
“Me", he murmured, his voice vibrating through her like some sort of secret trigger, because suddenly, she was coming, and he was saying, "Only me, bebe, only me."
“He licked his lips, so full and kissable, and his eyes darkened dangerously.
"But you do make a lot of noise in the shower. You're a screamer."
“I told you the storm's not over."
“Storms make you--"
"Want to fuck."
"they make me want to fuck until I pass out. Is that what you wanted to know?"
"Yes," she whispered...
“This is what you wanted, bebe."
He took her bottom lip between his teeth and let his hot tongue rasp slowly over it before releasing her.
"You wanted me to make love to your mouth. Imagine me doing this between your legs."
“He sank to his knees.
"I don't know how to handle this. I don't know what you want from me. Quoi tu veux," he murmured, over and over, until the whirring noise slowed and his fingers curled deep into the mud.
“It wasn't right. Evil should look evil. It should reek like rotten flesh, not smell like pine cleaner and fabric softener”
“I knew a man once,” Al Sorna continued, “who loved a woman very much. But he had a duty to perform, a duty he knew would cost him his life, and hers too if she stayed with him. And so he tricked her and had her taken far away. Sometimes that man tries to cast his thoughts across the ocean, to see if the love they shared has turned to hate, but he finds only distant echoes of her fierce compassion, a life saved here, a kindness done there, like smoke trailing after a blazing torch. And so he wonders, does she hate me? For she has much to forgive, and between lovers,” his gaze switched from her to me, “betrayal is always the worst sin.”
“I told you once before,” I said, the words husky from remembrance. “Everyone holds their sins close to their skin.”
Fangs gleamed for an instant before Vlad bit into his wrist, pooling up two deep crimson holes.
“Then come,” he said, holding it out. “And taste mine.”
“We had played a kid's version of gang fighting called "Civil War," and then later we had got in on the real thing, we fought with chains and we fought barefisted and we fought Socs and we fought other grease gangs. It was a normal childhood.”
“Blue,” he warned, but his voice was chaotic. This close, his throat was scented with mint and wool sweater and vinyl car seat, and Gansey, just Gansey.
She said, “I just want to pretend. I want to pretend that I could.”
“But the eyes of the Lord are watching over those who fear him, who rely upon his steady love. “He will keep them from death. . . .” Psalm 33:18”
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