22
" I want to move my hands, but they’re fused to his rib cage. I feel his lung span, his heartbeat, his very life force wrapped in these flimsy bars of bone. So fragile yet so solid. Like a brick wall with wet mortar. A juxtaposition of hard and soft.
He inhales again. “Jayme,” he says my name with a mix of sigh and inquiry.
I open my eyes and peer into his flushed face. Roses have bloomed on his ruddy cheeks and he looks as though he’s raced the wind.
“Mm?” I reply. My mind is full of babble, I’m so high.
“Jayme,” he’s insistent, almost pleading. “What are you?”
Instantaneous is the cold alarm that douses the flames still dancing in my heart. I feel the nervousness that whispers through me like a cool breeze in the leaves.
“What do you mean?” I ask, the disquiet wringing the strength from my voice.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he explains, inhaling deeply.
I feel the line of a frown between my brows. Gingerly, I lift the hem of his shirt. And as sure as I am that the world is round and that the sky is, indeed, blue the bruises and welts on his torso have faded to nothingness, the golden tan of his skin is sun-kissed perfection. Panic has me frozen as I stare.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper.
He looks down at his exposed abdomen. “I think you healed me.”
He says it so simply, but my mind takes his words and scatters them like ashes. I feel like I’m waking from a coma and I have amnesia and everyone speaks Chinese.
I can’t speak. If I had the strength to, I wouldn’t have the words. I feel the panic flood into me and fear spiked adrenaline courses through me, I shove him. Hard.
Eyes wide with shock, he stumbles back a few steps. A few steps is all I need. Fight or flight instinct taking root, I fight to flee. The space between us gives me enough room to slide out from between him and the car.
He shouts my name. It’s too late.
I’m running a fast as my lithe legs will carry me. My Converse pound the sidewalk and I hear the roar of his engine. It’s still too late. I grew up here and I’m ten blocks from home. No newbie could track me in my own neighborhood. In my town. Not with my determination to put as much distance as I can between me and the boy who scares the shit out of me. Not when I’ve scared the shit out of myself.
I run.
I run and I don’t stop. "
― Elden Dare , Born Wicked (The Wicked Sorcer Series #1)
25
" Birthdays were wretched, delicious things when you lived in Beau Rivage. The clock stuck midnight, and presents gave way to magic.
Curses bloomed.
Girls bit into sharp apples instead of birthday cake, chocked on the ruby-and-white slivers, and collapsed into enchanted sleep. Unconscious beneath cobweb canopies, frozen in coffins of glass, they waited for their princes to come. Or they tricked ogres, traded their voices for love, danced until their glass slippers cracked.
A prince would awaken, roused by the promise of true love, and find he had a witch to destroy. A heart to steal. To tear from the rib cage, where it was cushioned by bloody velvet, and deliver it to the queen who demanded the princess's death.
Girls became victims and heroines.
Boys became lovers and murderers.
And sometimes... they became both. "
― , Kill Me Softly (Beau Rivage, #1)
27
" Is there a problem? I mean, I wasn't expecting you, or anyone, tonight." Drew held out a hand to help her from the car, snatching it back when she got out on her own." There is a problem." " What?" He tensed. " Did M.J. come back? Is he giving you trouble?" " I can handle my brother." Tyler moved closer. Drew stepped back, his eyes suddenly wary. Sighing she grabbed the front of his t-shirt, the fingers of her other hand threading through his thick, dark hair. Soft. She remembered the feel like it was yesterday. Her hope had been that he would as eager as she was. The attraction was still there, it was time to do something about it. Apparently he wasn't going to make this easy. So she did what she had all those years ago when he wouldn't make the first move—she kissed him first.Prime rib to a starving man. Ten years without even a taste, Drew couldn't help but devour her.The kiss was primal, out of control. Mouths seeking the angle after angle, tongues duelings. And the way Tyler tasted. Sweet and spicy and utterly delicious.In his dreams, he imagined this differently. Slower. He would show her how a man kissed as opposed to the boy he had been. One touch of her lips on his and all those grand plans flew out the window along with any common sense he ever possessed. Tyler was in his arms. Familiar yet new. He needed her and he was never letting go.Drew's hands went under the hem of her shirt slowly sliding up her smooth, hot skin. He could feel the erotic combination of vulnerability and strength in the subtle muscles of her back. She had filled out, they both had. He wanted to spend days discovering all the differences then start all over again, just in case he missed something the first time.The kiss was neverending though the desperation, instead of lessening, scaled higher. He could lift her into his arms, carry her into the house, rip every scrap of clothing from her delicious body and fuck for hours.Fuck. Well, fuck.The word wasn't exactly a bucket of cold water, the desperate heat running through his veins needed more than that. But it did lift the haze. If he didn't stop this right now, there would be no turning back." Tyler." The word sounded foreign, all guttural. His voice was hoarse with passion and his body was calling every swear word known to man. Why are you stopping? Beautiful woman. Willing. Her hands all over you. Right now she was reaching between his legs. The first caress was almost his undoing. It felt so good, so right. No could touch him like Tyler.The sexual haze enveloped him again. Don't fight it, his body urged. Feel her lips on your jaw, your neck. God. Her teeth biting your earlobe. That alone brought him close to going over the top. Damn his good intentions. Talking was way overrated. Pulling her in until their bodies were flush and he could feel every long, luscious inch of her—plastered against him. Drew was going in for another kiss when her words did what his own reasoning couldn't. It wasn't a bucket of cold water, it was a fire hose—turned on full blast." Fuck me, Drew. Right here, up against my car. Let's get this thing done, once and for all. "
28
" He holds Willem so close that he can feel muscles from his back to his fingertips come alive, so close that he can feel Willem's heart beating against his, can feel his rib cage against his, and his stomach deflating and inflating with air. 'Harder,' Willem tells him, and he does until his arms grow first fatigued and then numb, until his body is sagging with tiredness, until he feels that he really is falling: first through the mattress, and then the bed frame, and then the floor itself, until he is sinking in slow motion through all the floors of the building, which yield and swallow him like jelly. Down he goes through the fifth floor, where Richard's family is now storing stacks of Moroccan tiles, down through the fourth floor, which is empty, down through Richard and India's apartment, and Richard's studio, and then to the ground floor, and into the pool, and then down and down, farther and farther, past the subway tunnels, past bedrock and silt, through underground lakes and oceans of oil, through layers of fossil and shale, until he is drifting into the fire at the earth's core. And the entire time, Willem is wrapped around him, and as they enter the fire, they aren't burned but melted into one being, their legs and chests and arms and heads fusing into one. "
― Hanya Yanagihara , A Little Life
29
" You have always been my only muse. I cannot paint or sculpt. I have only my words to render your likeness. Sometimes I wish I were both God and Adam so I could tear out my rib and create you from my own flesh. I would say I’d create you from my heart, but I gave that to you when you left me. But that’s a cliché, isn’t it? Sadly, that’s all I have these days. The whole story is a cliché. I desired you. I ate of you. I lost you. That ancient story – older than the Garden, old as the Snake. I would have liked to call this story of ours The Temptation but the word temptation, once the province of pious theologians, has now been co-opted by every third second-rate romance novelist. And although I loved you, my beautiful girl, this is not a romance novel. "
― Tiffany Reisz , The Siren (The Original Sinners, #1)
33
" I curse him silently for moving my hands as he raises them to study the scars. He kisses them, his lips a fluid brush along sensitive flesh, then places them on his cheeks.Mouth inches from mine, he whispers, " Forgive me for bringing you into this. There was no other way." His skin is softer than clouds must feel, and the tears gathering around my fingertips are hot and tangible. But are they sincere?Our breaths swirl between us, and his black eyes swallow me whole. My heart knocks against the bottom of his rib cage. I know what's coming next. I fear it. But it's the surest way to distract him and get the wish. And if it has to happen, I'm going to be the instigator.Rising up on my toes, I press my mouth to his. He moans, frees my wrists, and sweep-s me into his arms—sealing the teddy bear between us. "
38
" Day pushed God out of his space and turned to walk away without another word.“Oh no you don’t,” God snarled before grabbing Day around his waist and pulling him back into the darkness of the alley. He pushed Day up against the brick wall and pressed his forehead hard against his. “You think I’m just going to let you walk off?”“Yep. Just like you did this morning,” Day replied without a second thought.He’d be damned if that response didn’t hurt like hell. He kept their foreheads touching but lost some of his anger. “I apologized for that.”“You sent me a goddamn text message, coward. Now get off me. I’m going home…alone now, thanks to you,” Day hissed.“You were really going to fuck that guy?” God asked incredulously.“You’re goddamn right I was,” Day retorted.“Even though you’re in love with me?”Why did God say that? He watched his partner’s face go from mad to stark-raving livid. Before he could process what was happing, Day had caught him with a right punch twice to his rib cage making him cry out in pain at his already tender ribs.“Fuck!” God yelled as he was shoved backward hard enough to almost knock him off balance since he was already doubled over.“Can’t believe you just said that, asshole,” Day said while moving in on him again. “Think I’m going to let you string me along?”God held his ribs and put one hand up to stop Day’s approach but it was useless. Day dropped like a martial arts master and did a backward spin kick, effectively knocking both God’s legs from under him and sending him crashing to the ground—and two-hundred and fifty pounds hitting the asphalt really hurt.“The bigger they are, the harder they fucking fall,” Day snarled, and began to move in again.What the fuck?God knew Day was quick, he’d seen him in action too many times. God’s only defense was his muscle, but he had to get his hands on Day first, which wouldn’t be easy. God rolled and came up off the ground, quicker than Day expected, and he caught Day’s left punch in mid-throw and spun him around. He yanked Day into his chest but took a hard elbow to his right cheek with Day’s right arm before he was able to secure it with the other one.“Enough,” God growled in his ear. Day’s back was pressed hard against God’s chest, while God held both hand’s tightly in front of him. “Stop fighting me.”“No,” Day snapped.“Stop fighting me, Leo. Because I love you too,” God said, his lips pressed firmly against Day’s ear. “You can’t fuck that other guy because you’re mine,” he whispered.God felt Day’s body go limp in his tight hold and he took the opportunity to spin him around to face him. He looked into soft hazel eyes and lost himself. “I do, sweetheart. I think I may always have. I just didn’t know it until after you walked out of my apartment this morning.” God took a deep breath and shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut at the vision that popped up. “After I hurt you.”Day didn’t pull away, but God could see the hurt was still there. Man, how he wished he could take it all back. He swore he would have done it all differently. “Leo. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry, and I promise I’ll never put my hands on you in anger again.” God watched Day for any signs of forgiveness. Day’s head was down, he was still as a rock, and he still hadn’t spoken.God released Day’s arms, took one hand and slowly lifted Day’s chin so he could look into those beautiful eyes again. Day’s eyes were moist but focused.“Say something, sweetheart. Tell me you forgive me. Tell me you love me, or tell me to go to hell, just say something,” God begged, the silence driving him mad.God was beginning to think he’d really lost his best friend until Day finally spoke. “I usually don’t like endearments but I think I like you calling me sweetheart. "
39
" Day had fucked up big time. This was all his fault, all because he couldn’t keep his nosy ass out of other peoples private business. Day rushed to God’s side.
“I’ll help you ba—” Day didn’t know how, but God had found enough strength after that beating to push him so hard that he flew into the dresser, knocking it and all of the items that were on top of it to the floor, including the television. Day rolled a few feet, the dresser just missing falling on top of him.
“Cash, what the fuck!” Day cursed.
He rolled to his side and winced at the sharp pain in his ribs from coming into contact with the dresser.
“I was trying to help you get into bed.”
“Get the fuck out, Leo.” God’s face was an unyielding mask. For the first time in four long years, Day couldn’t read what the hell was going through God’s mind.
Day stood slowly. “God, I only called him because I needed to go—”
“It doesn’t matter why you did it! You had no right! You have no clue what you just did!” God yelled. “Now get out!”
“Cashel, please. Just hear me out,” Day pleaded. His eyes begged for God to see the sincerity in them. He really didn’t mean for any of this to happen. “Baby, I swear. I didn’t know any of this was happening between you and your family. You should’ve told me. Why was he calling you a murderer?”
No matter what, Day couldn’t turn off his detective side.
Day watched God squeeze his eyes shut. He went down on one knee and clutched his chest when the hard coughing started again. God’s eyes were full of water and pain. Day timidly eased over to God’s side but God cut his eyes at him, daring him to come any closer.
Day had to fight the moisture in his own eyes. “I just want to help you into bed.”
“Day, if you don’t get the fuck out of my house, I’m going to show you why he called me a murderer,” God said through clenched teeth.
Day couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped his lips, or the pain that radiated through his chest, as if his rib cage had been torn open and his heart ripped out and thrown underneath the bed. Day kept his eyes on God as he knelt to pick up the dresser, then the television. God watched him as well. Day didn’t say anything as the rogue tear fell down his face without his permission. Day went around to the opposite side of the bed and pulled a pen and piece of scrap paper from the drawer, still watching God carefully. He really didn’t like the look on his best friend’s face. He’d seen the look before, but he’d never had it leveled on him. Day scribbled a couple of phone numbers on the paper. "
― A.E. Via
