Is everything a joke to you?” I asked. He dabbed his tongue to his lip again. “Not everything.” “Like what?” “You.

He tasted deeper, holding himself over me, and suddenly he was everywhere; his knee trapping my leg, his lips grazing warm, rough, sensuous. He splayed his hand at the small of my back, holding me tightly, driving me to sink my fingers deeper into him, clinging to him as if letting go would mean losing part of myself.

I'm touched, Rixon. A bomb. How elaborate. Why didn't you keep things simple and just march inside my bedroom one night and put a bullet between my eyes?" Nora, Crescendo

I already know my size. I don't need reminding.

Are you keeping anything else from me?” “I’m keeping a lot of things from you.” “Like?” “Like the way I feel about being locked up in here with you. You have no idea what you do to me.

And here I thought they were called Peeping Toms." I didn't need to see him to know he wore a smile. "Stop laughing," I said, my cheeks hot with humiliation. "Get me down." "Jump." "What?" "I'll catch you." "Are you crazy? Go inside and open the window. Or get a ladder." "I don't need a ladder. Jump. I'm not going to drop you.

He's got the whole bad-boy-in-need-of-redemption thing going on, but the catch is, most bad boys don't want redemption. They like being bad. They like the power they get from striking fear and panic into the hearts of mothers everywhere