“I call you sunshine,' he whispers and brushes his knuckles down my face, 'because when you smile, you light me up inside.”
“You. Are. So. Amazing.” His soft lips brush over mine, back and forth, over and over again as he begins to move inside me. “Rock with me, baby.”
“Oh, sunshine,' I whisper and smile gently. 'Haven't you figured out that I'm completely in love with you?”
“You make me forget how to breathe.”
“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “Just let me do what I do best, baby. Let me take care of you.” “It’s hard for me to let people in, Leo.” “I’m already in,” he reminds me. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m afraid to fall.”
“I’ll catch you, baby.”
“Leo?”
“Yeah, sunshine.”
“So not a one night thing,” I whisper.
He chuckles softly and drapes an arm around me, pulling me closer to him.
“I’m glad you’re catching up.”
“I’m completely in love with her. I just don’t know how to tell her because I’m afraid that as soon as I do, she’ll run at full speed in the other direction.”
“-It's a date.
-Good. And baby ?
-Yeah ?
-You're not sleeping alone tonight.”
“You are everything I've ever wanted, Sam. More than music. More than anything.”
“What was that?” she whispers.
“If you have to ask, I didn’t do it right.”
“I don’t ever want you to run until your legs give out on you like this gain. The only time your legs will shake like this is if I’m inside you.”
“As long as I’m in the picture.”
“Leo, you are the picture.”
“I’ll take you hard, and soft, and every way in between.” He grips my face in his hands and looks down at me, his nose touching mine. “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.”
Oh God, yes!
“And I’m going to make love to you until you’re shaking and don’t remember who you are.”
“I know you’re strong and independent and I respect that, but this is who I am, Sam. I take care of what is mine. You’re mine.”
…
“Let me do what I do best, baby. Let me take care of you”
“It’s hard for me to let people in, Leo.”
“I’m already in,” he reminds me. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
“If you’re going to touch my wife, you’d better put a shirt on. Dude, what the fuck are you doing with my sister?”
“Samantha, I’m not going to make love to you tonight. But I’m going to kiss the fuck out of you.”
“I don’t want to move in on another guys territory, and I don’t share.”
Wow.
“I’m single.” I frown again. “But we aren’t…”
“Oh, I think we are,” he interrupts, his gaze challenging me. He grips my ass harder and stands, easily pulling me to my feet. “I can’t let go of you,” he whispers.”
“Maybe I’m turning into a pussy in my old age. The kicker? I don’t give a shit.”
“Now you’ve fucked a rock star. How do you feel?”
“Like everyone else you fuck. Used and ready for you to leave”
“And you, Persephone... You were foretold, too. I never wanted anything-" her mouth moved softly, gently over my skin "-until I wanted you.”
“If you help someone in need you might also receive unexpected aid.”
“Did you really think I wouldn’t look for you?”
“Honestly? Yes. You seemed a little busy losing your tongue down someone else’s throat.”
“When I think of all the pretty and lovely girls who have done their best to attach him, and he tells me that he has offered for an insipid female who has neither fortune nor any extraordinary degree of beauty, besides being stupidly shy and dowdy, I – oh, I could go into strong hysterics!”
“The best way to get a handle on the subject would be to ask the experts, but one does not simply walk into a church or synagogue and ask to speak with a demonologist. There are not that many of them; their names are confidential, and they are obliged to report their experiences only to their superiors. Even Ed Warren will not tell all about these horrendous black spirits that come in the night bearing messages and proclamations of blasphemy. When pressed on the matter, in fact, Ed’s reply is: “There are things known to priests and myself that are best left unsaid.” Upon what, then, does Ed Warren base his opinions? Is there proper evidence or corroboration to substantiate his claims? “People who aren’t familiar with the phenomenon sometimes ask me if I’m not involved in a sort of ultrarealistic hallucination, like Don Quixote jousting with windmills. Well, hallucinations are visionary experiences. This, on the other hand, is a phenomenon that hits back. My knowledge of the subject is no different than that of learned clergymen, and they’ll tell you as plainly as I will that this isn’t something to be easily checked off as a bad dream. “I can support everything I say with bona fide evidence,” Ed goes on, “and testimony by credible witnesses and blue-ribbon professionals. There is no conjecture involved here. My statements about the nature of the demonic spirit are based on my own firsthand experiences over thirty years in this work, backed up by the experiences of other recognized demonologists, plus the experiences of the exorcist clergy, plus the testimony of hundreds of witnesses who’ve been these spirits’ victims, plus the full weight of hard physical evidence. Theological dogma about the demonic simply proves consistent with my own findings about these spirits in real life. But let me be more specific. “The inhuman spirit often identifies itself as the devil and then—through physical or psychological means—proves itself to be just that. Again speaking from my own personal experiences, I have been burned by these invisible forces of pandemonium. I have been slashed and cut; these spirits have gouged marks and symbols on my body. I’ve been thrown around the room like a toy. My arms have been twisted up behind me until they’ve ached for a week. I’ve incurred sudden illnesses to knock me out of an investigation. Physicalized monstrosities have manifested before me, threatening death,”
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