Mareeva > Books: favourite-heroes‎ (23)

“Are you a Starbucks girl? A bit basic don’t you think, Indiana?”
My eyes narrow at the name. “Ever hear the phrase ‘she’s not like other girls’?”
He gives a small nod of his head.
“Yeah, that’s not me. I’m just like every other chick. As basic as they come. I had an Uggs phase. I had a skinny jeans phase. I like my books with romance, my coffee with more creamer than caffeine, and I even take aesthetic pictures of my food anytime I’m at a restaurant.”

“Your makeup. It looks pretty on you.”
“That’s a weird thing to say.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re supposed to say you like me natural or something to that extent. That’s the typical opinion of the male species.”

She stares into Mr. Solo’s dark eyes and a peculiar sensation washes over her: dread,

She stares into Mr. Solo’s dark eyes and a peculiar sensation washes over her: dread, and… peace. Relief. There is, finally, no alternative choice. There is nowhere to flee. She is one word away from stability and safety and nary a difficult thought ever again. A cage, perhaps. But it’s a very lovely cage.

“I would do it all over again.” His warm hand pauses atop her head, thumb tracing the arch of her brow, dark eyes quite intent upon hers. “In the same manner, with the same outcome, in any lifetime—I would do the same irrational, cruel things to have you, my love.” Mr. Solo raises his eyebrows. “In this life or the next, and in every life that has come before—in whatever forms we may take—you will always be mine. Do you understand, Rey?”

“Is this when you rape me?” I squeeze my balled fists tig

“Is this when you rape me?” I squeeze my balled fists tighter, so hard my knuckles ache.
He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, his mouth twisting in the corners. “Not tonight. I got a headache,” he says.
And then he closes his eyes and doesn’t say another word.

“What did you do?”
He stares me straight in the eye while he says, “I looked through your stuff. Laid in your bed. Took a nap.”
“You took a nap?”
“Yeah.”

“What does that mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“Lenochka?”
“Bright light.”

His mouth lowered. Mine lifted. Straining to meet, our lips parted, floated closer, closer, and paused just before making contact.
Our chests rose in unison. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out. Deeper than a lick, more divine than a kiss, we became breaths. Nothing but trembling, heating, mating breaths.
It was a magical, instinctual attraction. I pulled, and he came with me. He leaned back, and I followed.