K. Webster

Roan has stuck his hand inside my chest and plucked my heart from its cage. It beats like crazy in his fist. He can keep it, or he can crush it. No matter what he does, it won’t matter. I’ve given it to him, and it scares the shit out of me, because I know I’ll never get it back.

I feel connected to the broody asshole in ways I don’t understand. When he’s near, I want to inhale him and look at him. Feel him. I’ve never wanted to just be in someone’s presence before like I do with him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever like you,” he teases. “Not you. You’re too perfect, porcelain boy. Makes me want to break you.” “Wow,” I say with a whistle. “Put that in a proposal and I’ll marry you tomorrow.”

I steal the moment. Inhale him. Stare at him. Feel him. We’re on the edge of something, and it’s about to be taken away from me. So I keep the moment for as long as I can.

Why does Roan get inside me and strip me bare every damn time? Being so stupidly affected by him is becoming an issue. It’s overwhelming and exhausting. And exhilarating.

“I have like two really good things in my life, Hollis, and you’re one of them. Please don’t take that away from me.”