Falling Down, Through The Darkness.

“I’m —”

I lean in then and smell the triangle of his throat, cutting him off.

It’s something that I’ve been wanting to do ever since I saw that patch of skin in his office a few days ago.

And now that he’s here, I couldn’t stop myself from giving in and I was right.

I was so fucking right.

His scent is thicker here.

Thicker and headier and I have to open my mouth to take it in.

Leather and cigar smoke.

With a hint of cherries.

That’s new though and I wonder if I can lick it too. I wonder if I could take a bite out of it, his throat. Just to see if it tastes the same as it smells.”

Hey, Mister Marshall by Saffron A. Kent

He puts his hand between us on the couch, palm up, and then looks back at the TV.

It’s like he’s put out a dish of seed and is now sitting very still, waiting for the cowardly little chicken to make a move. And it does take me a while. I tentatively pick up his hand and lace his fingers into mine.

For a scary moment he doesn’t react, but as the warmth of his hand begins to glow into my palm, he gives me a deep, delicious squeeze.

The art of holding hands is underrated and it’s embarrassing how much this simple act has me nearly breathless.

The Hating Game by Sally Thorne

Giulio Berruti in Gabriel’s Inferno - Part 2 (2020)

“Hearts are stupid, aren’t they? Foolish little dreamers.”

A Gorgeous Villain by Saffron A. Kent

“I gaze up at the bedroom ceiling. Sleep eludes me. I’m tormented by Ana’s fragrance, which still clings to my bedsheets. I pull her pillow over my face to breathe in her scent. It’s torture, it’s heaven, and for a moment I contemplate death by suffocation.”

Grey by E. L. James

“He can do whatever he wants with me. He can stab me with a knife and I’ll be lying on the ground, dying, drawing little hearts in blood.”

My Darling Arrow by Saffron A. Kent

“I pointed at Camille. “She makes me feel.” I pointed at Dad. “Your tears, they should make me sad, right? They don’t. I see you upset and I think ‘I don’t want you to be unhappy’ but I don’t feel your sadness. But her”—I leaned forward, as if proximity might make my dad understand—“when she cries, when she laughs; I feel it in here.” I tapped my chest over my heart. “I’ve never had that, never experienced anything like it. I can’t let that go. Don’t you see?”

The Bad Guy by Celia Aaron

SLEEPY HOLLOW, dir. Tim Burton (1999)