Galen cupped her cheek with his uninjured hand, his thumb caressing the rise of satin-covered bone. She trembled, but didn’t pull away.

Your grandpa was a boxer in his youth. Sexiest thing I'd ever seen, let me tell you. He wore these short little shorts, and sweat was always dripping down his hairy chest.

You are mine,” he rasped. “Only ever mine. I accept all that you are, and we can be together.

Anya made you kiss her? Yeah. And at our next stop, I'll expect you to deliver. I'll pay, William piped up. After you describe everything about that kiss you two shared. Did you cop a feel? You did, didn't you, you little hussy. I bet you moaned a lot, too. Too late for you to pay, she said in a sing song voice. Strider already offered, and I already accepted. And no, I won't do any describing. You can just imagine how sexy it was. Oh, and Willie. Just so you know, your imagination won't do it justice.

Come on, baby.” Paris combed his fingers through her hair. “Look past my terrible personality and hideous looks and throw me a bone. Teach me how to woo you properly.” She snorted. “I’d argue the hideous looks part.” “But not the terrible personality? Ouch. That hurts, baby.

My ex—may he soon discover tiny worms have invaded his body and are slowly eating him alive—once told me God made men so perfect because He'd wanted to make up for the inadequacies of women.

Apparently, dancing for him and throwing herself at him weren't enough. Apparently, she had to nearly commit murder to arouse him enough to attack her.