His thumb went back and forth over the satin, as if he were rubbing her hip as he had when they'd been together, and he moved his leg over so that it was on top of the skirting. It wasn't the same, though. There was no body underneath, and the fabric smelled like lemons, not her skin. And he was, after all, alone in this room that was not theirs. "God, I miss you," he said in a voice that cracked. "Every night. Every day.
J.R. WardWhen Vishous pushed open the door to the exam room, he got a gander at the kind of seating arrangement that made him think fondly of castration.
J.R. WardWe also mark what's ours. And as I'm not going to see you for twelve hours, I think I'll leave a little more all over you.
J.R. WardAnd speaking of on board, she'd moved into John's room properly. In his closet, her leathers and her muscles shirts were hanging next to his, and their shitkickers were lined up together, and all her knives and her guns and her little toys were now locked up in his fire proof cabinet. Their ammo was even stacked together. How frickin' romantic.
J.R. Ward