Chrissy

“all he’s done since then is poke me with his pen.” “Probably because he wants to poke you with something else,” she said dryly. My eyes bugged. “I can’t believe you said that.”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, Obsidian

“You read too much.” Daemon exhaled slowly. [...]
"There’s no such thing as that.”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, Obsidian

“So, you guyes are like us in other, uh, departments?”
Deamon sat up, arching a brow. “Come again?”
I felt my cheeks flush. “You know, like sex? I mean, you guys are all glowy and stuff. I don’t see how certain stuff would work.”
Deamon’s lips curled into a half smile, and that was the only warning he gave. Moving unbelievably fast, I was on my back and he was above me in a flash. “Are you asking if I’m attracted to human girls?” he asked. Dark, wet waves of hair fell forward. Tiny droplets of water fell off the ends, splashing against my cheek. “Or are you asking if I’m attracted to you?”
Using his hands, he lowered himself slowly. There wasn’t an inch of space between our bodies. Air fled my lungs at the contact of his body against mine. He was male and ripped in all the places I was soft. Being this close to him was startling, causing an array of sensations to zing through me. I shivered. Not from the cold, but from how warm and wonderful he felt. I could feel every breath he took, and when he shifted his hips, my eyes went wide and I gasped.
Oh yeah, certain stuff was definitely working.
Daemon rolled off me, onto his back beside me. “Next question?” he asked, voice deep and thick.
I didn’t move. I stared wide-eyed at the blue-skies. “You could’ve just told me, you know?” I looked at him. “You didn’t have to show me.”
“And what fund would there be in telling you?” He turned his head toward me. “Next question, Kitten?”
“Why do you call me that?”
“You remind me of a little fuzzy kitten, all claws and no bite.”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, Obsidian

“Nothing about you or Wonderland makes sense. And the ‘one abiding truth’ is that life was so much easier when I’d forgotten your massive ego and that other world ever existed.”
A tremor shifts through his features, first fragile, then severe. His muscles twitch under his T-shirt, sending a tingling sensation through my knuckles. “You want me nonexistent?"

Before I can respond, he steps back and flips the hat from his head. Then he drags off his vest and his T-shirt, dropping them all on the floor at my feet. Once he’s peeled off his necklace and bracelets, he stands there facing me in only jeans and boots.

I watch him warily. “W-w-what are you doing?”

“I’m clearing the way for my massive ego.”
― A.G. Howard, Unhinged