“She wears those old fashioned pj's like body armour. Going to bed these days is like wresting with Kevlar.”

“she never even wore stockings; just those bullet proof tights that you see on old maids.”

“Like opium, nerve annihilation stretches up my veins to pump incinerating anguish through my body.”

“Pulped in his crushing strength, his hug is enough to smear me over his body like war paint.”

“Aye,” he smiles, joy igniting in his stormy gray eyes, stroking my hand possessively as if unwilling to let me go for fear I am nothing more than a hallucination about to wear off.”

“Pushing himself off the bed in a violent thrust, his lats widen like wings down his sides, where his waistcoat is open halfway to his waist to accommodate muscular builds, he indicates the gilded cage with outstretched arms. Showing off his supreme musculature, he says, “We have forever Phoebe.”

“The sad thing is that sometimes I just wanna roll over and give her a little cuddle, but the bolster pillow she insists on sleeping with down the middle of the bed between us means I’d need to be a mountaineer as well as a locksmith.”