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“And to be clear,” I get out, “you’re okay with the fact that we’re working together?” He kisses along my collarbone, his voice all gravel. “We both know you won’t go easier on me for it.” “And what about you?” It’s completely absurd that I’m keeping up the charade of having a totally normal conversation while my palms are flattening on the table behind me and my body is lifting unsubtly, making it easier for his mouth to brush under the collar of my shirt. “I have no interest in going easy on you, Nora,” he says.” — Emily Henry
And to be clear,” I get out, “you’re okay with the fact that we’re working together?”
He kisses along my collarbone, his voice all gravel. “We both know you won’t go easier on me for it.”
“And what about you?” It’s completely absurd that I’m keeping up the charade of having a totally normal conversation while my palms are flattening on the table behind me and my body is lifting unsubtly, making it easier for his mouth to brush under the collar of my shirt.
“I have no interest in going easy on you, Nora,” he says.