Don’t run, please-have a little faith in me and a little patience. Please.
Oh my, the look he gives me could be solely responsible for global warming.
My subconscious is furious, medusa-like in her anger, hair flying, her hands clenched around her face like Edvard Munch’s Scream.
His words make me squirm. He wouldn’t dare! He and his twitchy palm.
He pulls up outside my duplex. I belatedly realize he’s not asked me where I live – yet he knows. But then he sent the books, of course he knows where I live. What able, cell-phone-tracking, helicopter owning, stalker wouldn’t.
Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His over-whelming good looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he’d stop doing that.
Anatasia You Are My More My Love, My Life Christian.
Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.
Just remember that men are from a different planet, and you’ll be fine.
So you’ve just slept with him, given him your virginity, a man who doesn’t love you. In fact, he has odd ideas about you, wants to make you some sort of kinky sex slave.
Stow your twitchy palm!
I struggle to keep up with him because my wits have been thoroughly and royally scattered all over the floor and walls of elevator three in the Heathman Hotel.
Who’s he kidding? He’s no gentleman. He has my panties.
I see your pain. It’s hard knowing that I’m the one that has made you feel this way.
We always hurt the ones we love, darling.
I love you and all your kinky fuckery.
He’s like several different people in one body. Isn’t that a symptom of schizophrenia? I must Google that.
My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail.
Crusty and Cross here,? he says and I grin. He’s still playful Fifty. My inner goddess is clapping her hands with glee like a small child.
He does, and his eyes shoot to mine, wide and gray, alive with wonder and joy. His lip part in disbelief. The word YES flashes on and off on the key ring. “Happy birthday”, I whispered.