Kylie Scott

“The opening notes of a song began, some plucking of guitar strings. I knew the melody. It was Maroon 5’s “She Will Be Loved.” As pop songs went, it was pretty damn good, a bit of a favorite of mine.”

“It is. I’m your boyfriend now, whichmeans there’s no room for your hipster admirer. He’ll just have to lick his wounds while we lick other things.”

“You're dying to meet my needs. You can't look away from my luscious half-naked body. The minute I opened the door you were pawing at me. It was like you were in heat or something.”

“I am a vicious and unrepentant killer who should be locked up. With him, my idiot boyfriend.”

“[He] carefully put a funky-looking pair of reading glasses on her. "There we go. How are they?"She blinked experimentally, peering around the room. "Good, I think. Thank you.""Wear them the next time we f***. That would be thanking me.""Aww. You say the sweetest things.""Don't I?”

“You've got drama too?' 'Doesn't everyone?' 'A side effect of breathing, I guess.”

“It will never belong in a Hallmark card, but I drove a car into a house and killed a man for you. You chained me up for days and I still wanted to come back and talk over our darkly sordid, slightly kinky, and a lot warped relationship. Face it, you're stuck with me.”

“The big-ass hole, all of the wreckage and mess. I'd done that. Me,”

“Because the same as any man, women were entitled to a fuss-free sex life should they so choose. And it didn't make us sluts, or whores, or any of the other nasty, misogynistic, double-standard bullshit that got thrown a woman's way when she didn't fit with the traditional ideals of who and what a female should be.”

“No wonder people took sex so seriously, or not seriously enough at all. Sex addled your wits and stole your body. It was like being lost and found all at once.”

“Stick your dick in’?” I asked, my brows probably touching. “Did you actually just say that?” “Make love. I meant make love … of course. I would never just stick my dick in you. I would make mad, passionate love to this sweet, sweet body of yours for days, no, weeks. It would be beautiful, pumpkin. There’d be little angels, and birdies, and you know … all just hanging around, watching. Perverts.”

“I don’t need to conform to your ideas of beauty”