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“I had to remind myself of all the ways that he might be Buffalo Bill, and my erotically charged moment was his puts the lotion on its skin. He could take me anywhere. He looked like the kind of guy who'd be savvy about which highway exit had the best wooded area for dumping a body. Maybe that was why he drove a truck. Which I was currently sitting in. Which of those options honestly scared me more--- that he could be up to some dark shit, or just that I had a crush? Maybe my true crime reading had desensitized me after all, because I knew which of those made my heart speed up.”

ImaginationThrillingParanoidSexual AttractionHeart PoundingBounty HunterSilence Of The Lambs
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“His hands came up to my cheeks, his mouth insistent on mine as he deepened the kiss. He had my lower lip between his teeth, giving a soft nibble while a whimper came from the back of my throat that didn't even sound like me. My nipples were tight and aching, rubbing his chest through the thin fabric of my bra. His hand slid under the fabric to cup my goosefleshed skin, his fingers rolling my nipple in a sensation so exquisite it almost hurt. "You have great boobs," he murmured against my neck. "Can I say that?" My bra was half-askew by now, one strap falling down my arm. "If my boobs are out, you're contractually obligated to say that.”

KissingForeplayCop A Feel
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“The entire funeral had been a blur. My dad’s death had come as a shock-he was still in his fifties, he was supposed to have plenty of time left. But the whole day had felt surreal, like I was in a dream, or in someone else’s life. I hadn’t known what to say or how to act, and so I’d just kind of shut down, retreated inside myself to the place I could always go as a kid when I needed some quiet.”

GriefFunerals
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“He reached up to gently pull the elastic from my hair, combing his fingers through the waves as they splayed over my shoulders. Even that massage on my scalp felt good, and I closed my eyes, swaying into him. "You're so beautiful," he murmured against my mouth, his hands still in my hair as he kissed me. This kiss was different from the ones in the pool, somehow--- slower, more exploratory, as though he had all the time in the world and he wanted to spend it with me. Meanwhile, I felt restless and pent-up and like if I didn't have him inside me right then I would explode. My insistent hands on his towel and underwear must've given him the hint, because within five seconds we were both naked and twined together on the bed, kissing and touching everywhere we could. I took the hard length of him in my hand, and he shuddered against me as I rubbed my thumb along the silky head of his cock. "Ah," he said, his voice sounding strangled. "I won't last long if you keep doing that." "What, this?" I said, and did it again. I liked seeing him this way, out of control, his eyes glittering and wild in the low light of the room. But then he turned the tables on me, flipping me over so I was pinned on my back, and he kissed his way down my throat, stopping to suck one aching nipple in his mouth, roll his tongue along the swell of my stomach before he found my clit. I bucked involuntarily, my hips grinding into him as if my body knew it needed more even before my mind did. He licked and sucked, his tongue doing wicked things inside me, until there was no way I could hold myself back even if I wanted to. I clenched at the sheets, gasping as I felt my orgasm shockwave through me.”

SexOrgasmCunnilingusHeavy Petting
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“He glanced around, as if taking in the surroundings for the first time. "Is this your childhood room?" he asked. "There's a lot of black." "Well, I didn't paint it that way until I was fourteen and capable of making cryptic comments about how I wanted my room to match my soul. When this was truly my childhood bedroom, it was perfectly normal, thank you very much. I had a wallpaper border with roses on it and an American Girl doll on the dresser and everything." "Let me guess." He narrowed his eyes at me. "Samantha." "Not all brunette girls needed to own a Samantha doll," I said, affronted. "But yes, it was Samantha. She had a really cool tartan cape and a valise and she stood up against child labor, so don't think she was just some prissy rich girl.”

MoodBedroomDollAmerican GirlSamantha Parker
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“He was still wearing the khaki pants, his more formal shirt now unbuttoned and a little askew, the sleeves rolled up just past his elbows. His dark hair hung over one eye, but I could see his gaze sweeping over me, taking me in. At least this time I wasn't wearing coffee-stained pajama pants. I'd put on what was essentially my uniform that morning--- black leggings, black T-shirt, my long hair in a messy bun, and winged eyeliner because fuck it why not.”

Physical AttractionEyelinerDress Down
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“But I knew my hair was healthy and a pretty color, dark brown shot with red in certain lights. I'd always liked my eyes, which were large and framed by naturally long lashes, and if I used to wish they were violet instead of brown, I was mostly over it now. That had been a side effect of reading too many romance novels, I knew, where the heroine's eyes were always sparkling emerald or velvety indigo.”

HairFeminine BeautyBrunetteEye Color
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“I was in a black cloud around that time. Sometimes I think I have a bit of a gray cloud, at least, that still follows me around. I know people's parents get divorced, and every teenager is practically required to go through a stage where they shop at Hot Topic and say things like You laugh because I'm different, but I laugh because you're all the same.”

LonerEmoTeenage Angst
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“Finally, he scraped just his knuckles along the pulsing core of me, the friction intensely erotic through the damp fabric of my underwear. My body jerked involuntarily at the touch, but then just as suddenly it was gone. He curved his hands under my ass, gripping my cheeks as he shifted me closer. I heard his sharp intake of breath at the contact, and I relished it, that sign that he was just as turned on as I was. He cupped my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers in a way that instantly made my breathing shallow. "I love how you fill my hands," he said. "I could just come thinking about your tits. I have come just thinking about your tits.”

Slow BurnPillow TalkHeavy Petting
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“Back in North Carolina, the small office in the English Department I shared with another graduate student for our teaching assignments looked like a decorator's version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, one where Jekyll loved Stranger Things, Funko Pops, and artistically desaturated wedding photos, and Hyde loved death row cinder block walls.”

OppositesPreferencesJekyll And HydePop Culture References
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“... Old neighbors viewed each other strangely, and as strangers,'" I said softly to myself. From behind me, Conner laughed. "If anyone is acting strangely here, it's you. This is a real '"'Tis," replied Aunt Helga' moment you're in." I'd been quoting Truman Capote's classic In Cold Blood; trust my brother to answer with a reference to one of our favorite Simpsons episodes when we were kids.”

QuoteLittle BrotherReferenceSimpsonsIn Cold Blood
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“The pulsing heartbeat of true crime, of all human stories when you got right down to it, was we all wanted and hoped and dreamed and loved, but we had no control over what happened in the end. There was a reason why even the most sensationalistic supermarket paperback would tell you that the victim loved animals and wanted to be a veterinarian, or that another victim was three days away from her birthday. "These books promise closure and justice," I said to Lenore, scratching her under her chin. "But ultimately they reinforce the reality that so many lives are interrupted, so many dreams unfulfilled.”

UnpredictableVictimsUnfulfilled DreamsTrue Crime Murder Books
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“There are a lot of people who ask what's the point, poring over words that were written twenty, fifty, two hundred years ago. And doing it again and again, after there's already been so much written on the subject. But ultimately I think it's about learning to pay attention. Learning to examine something closely, and ask questions, and place it in different frameworks to see how it might change. As a culture, we are what we write about, and examining those texts can teach us a lot about how we see the world.”

LiteratureQuotingStudyingTextParagraphsRead Between Lines
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“Your dad wasn't a big talker," Sam said, his voice a rumble against my chest. "As you know. But I feel like I could tell, from the way he checked his mail, that he was super proud." I bit the inside of my cheek. "Could not." "Oh yeah," he said. "You should've seen it. He'd do this shuffle down the driveway--- it screamed that his daughter was about to become a doctor, he was obnoxious about it, to tell you the truth--- and then he'd open the mailbox and peer inside. Then he'd pull out the envelopes and start sorting them like he was reading through the paper you presented at the pop culture conference last year, the one about masculinity and monstrosity in The Shining---" I propped myself up on my elbows. "Wait, how---?" "I Googled you," Sam said. "Anyway, then he'd amble back up the driveway, his gait making it clear to the whole neighborhood that his daughter was strong and empathetic, smart and hilarious, and gorgeous.”

FatherPrideDaughterMailConfessionProud Of
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“I glanced down. My arms were pushing my breasts together, making my cleavage look even deeper than usual. "Oh my god," I said. "My tits look amazing." "I know," Sam said. "That's my point." "They may never look this good again. Take a picture." "Don't tempt me." I slid up against his body, until I felt the hard length of him on my thigh. "We can start with the space thing in, like, twenty minutes," I said. "Forty-five?" "An hour, max." "I can work with that," he said, and grabbed my ass with both hands, pulling me on top of him.”

Sex AppealSexy Banter
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“I leaned back against him, my hair splayed out across his hard chest, my head resting on his shoulder, my throat exposed. "You feel so good," he said, his breath hot on my neck. It was pornographic, the scene we made. Me with my knees up close to my chest, my legs spread, his fingers still working on me. Somehow the fact that he was still wearing his jeans, that I could only see the outline of his knuckles through the thin cotton of my underwear, only made it feel more so. But it was a vulnerable position, too, the way I was so open to him, the rasp of his voice in my ear. When I came it was so sudden it surprised me, my body clenching around his hand even as I grabbed his wrist, holding him there until the last of the aftershocks rippled through my body. Finally, his hand skated back up over me, leaving a streak of wetness on my nipple from where he'd been inside me. I watched Sam's profile from under my lashes. The way his mouth parted as he rubbed that wet nipple with his thumb, the way he bit down on his lower lip.”

Sexual IntimacyHot Sex Scene
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“Encounter w/ strange man June 3, approx. 2 a.m. White, 5'9", slightly scruffy, shaggy brown hair. Ripped T-shirt, jeans, no shoes. Origin and destination unknown, believed to be night wanderer. I chewed on the end of the pen, wondering if I should include any other details. It had been too dark to tell what color his eyes were. His voice had been deep, with a rasp, almost... but I couldn't write that. If my body was found in the woods behind the house, and investigators were competent enough to do a forensic analysis of this notebook, I didn't want editorializing words complicating the narrative. Words like compelling, or god forbid, sexy.”

Physical AttractionDissertationFirst Met
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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“By this point, I could zero in on true crime by Dewey Decimal or Library of Congress classification in five seconds flat. It wasn't long before I had Helter Skelter and was browsing the rest of the section, seeing if there was anything else that might be interesting. There was one book with the greasy plastic cover of a Waffle House place mat, the red font large and garish, that promised to be a tell-all from the daughter of a serial killer who'd been local to Central Florida in the 1980s.”

PreferenceTrue Crime Murder Books
Book:Love in the Time of Serial Killers
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