It was hesitant at first, gentle. His fingers held tight at the base of her skull and she could feel the restraint in him, the leashed energy vibrating in the space between their bodies. He needed to shave and the stubble on his chin was prickly against hers. He smelled like he always had – aftershave, Calvin Klein cologne he bought at the grocery store, and something wild and frightening, like smoke; something that was unmistakably Ben to her – and it assaulted her brain, turning keys in padlocks and laying bare her self-control.
Lauren GilleyBen tasted like wine; felt animal beneath her hands; chased away the shadows until her room was only darkness, only them, nothing wicked.
Lauren GilleyTags: romance
You can’t love anything properly from a distance.
Lauren GilleyTags: love love-hurts
It was broken. It was haunted. Just like her.
But it had bones, and it had memories, and it had the ability to be something strong again. Just like her.
Tags: inspirational hope starting-over
His voice was different in the small, intimate spaces that existed when they were pressed together like this; it was sweet with a familiar sort of sleepiness, a voice just for her that the rest of the world didn't get to hear.
Lauren GilleyShe took a deep breath and it was her eighteenth birthday; it was Jess’s wedding and a summer evening at the pool; it was all those hundreds of times he’d been propped against her dorm building. And it was now, and she wanted to be this sophisticated, Audrey Hepburn-esque girl who gave him a coy smile and sauntered toward him, hips swinging. But this was Tam, and she wasn’t sophisticated for crap.
Lauren GilleyFor one perfect, precious moment, everything that ate at their sanity melted away into the shadows, and the crackling energy that arced between them was nothing but bright, sparkling memories of all their moments together in this car and all the things she'd let him teach her in it.
Lauren GilleyAs Jordan sagged back against the door and his eyes did an aimless sweep of the antique sideboards that lined the foyer, the glass and brass lantern above him, the discarded socks tossed over the post at the foot of the stairs, he didn't for a second think "normal" was anywhere close to ideal. Normal was jaded and sleepy-eyed and kicking him out of bed before the sweat had cooled. Normal was no-strings and no love and nothing but cold comfort.
Lauren GilleyShe didn’t understand love, not the golden, shimmering, romance-novel stuff that existed between mates. She was skeptical of it, and had never been one to pretend that it existed just for the sake of excitement. She didn’t know what it looked like, what it felt like…at least, she hadn’t. But she realized, amid the dancing tendrils of ivy that climbed the gazebo, that love – that good, golden kind she’d always discounted – didn’t arrive with a blast of trumpets and an earth-shattering epiphany. It was earned, formed, created, day by day, a little at a time. And it looked like Mike eating toast over her kitchen sink, felt like his hand smoothing her hair back off her face, sounded like his sudden shout of laughter when she spilled a whole sack of flour out of the top cabinet down onto her head in his kitchen, tasted like the kiss he used to make up for it.
Lauren GilleyHow many times have you been slapped on dates?”
“Five,” he said as he checked over his shoulder and eased back out into traffic. “So hit my left side if you’re going to. The right’s my pretty side.”
“Which side is your modest side?”
“Don’t have one.
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