“He’s kissing like he doesn’t have a minute to waste, like I’ll evaporate under his hands if he doesn’t keep pace.”

“He’s kissing me like the world is rolling right off a cliff, like he’s trying to hang on and he’s decided to hold on to me, like he’s starving for life and love and he’s never known it could ever feel this good to be close to someone. Like it’s the first time he’s ever felt anything but hunger and he doesn’t know how to pace himself, doesn’t know how to eat in small bites, doesn’t know how to do anything anything anything in moderation.”

“It belongs to an Uptown attorney. What a horse’s ass. Thinks he’s so smart. He doesn’t know the difference between piss and perfume. I’ll have fun returning that to him. Maybe I’ll drop by his house at dinnertime.”

“He doesn’t say he loves you at all. He doesn’t touch your skin or look into your eyes, and tell you you’re the only girl in the world for him. That he’s been scared to say it because he didn’t want to lose you. He doesn’t tell you he ached for you every minute he was away.”

“He doesn’t look like a CEO—he looks like a bad boy from the wrong side of town. Holy cow, he’s so fucking sexy.”

“You know,” he says, “for someone who doesn’t like touching people, you keep finding ways to put your hands on me.”