Man, I want to be someone's forbidden fruit." "Well, you are pretty fruity.
Don't judge me because I'm quiet. No one plans a murder out loud.
Least he's committed," I offered. "Or needs to be.
He's an enigma wrapped up in sensuality padlocked with a dozen chains of desire and topped off with a razor-sharp ribbon of danger. There are more layers to him than a billionaire's wedding cake.
I often question my sanity. Occasionally, it replies.
You take everything onto your shoulders like that guy who holds up the world, and you shouldn’t. You’re not nearly as muscular.