Emma

“I had fun last night," I told Patch, flicking off my chin strap and handing over my helmet. "I'm officially in love with your sheets."

"That the only thing you're in love with?"

"Nope. Your mattress, too."

Some smile crept into Patch's eyes. "My bed's an open invitation.”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Silence

“I like you in my bed,” Patch said. “I rarely pull down the covers. I rarely sleep. I could get used to this picture.”

“Are you offering me a permanent place?”

“Already put a spare key in your pocket.”

I patted my pocket. Sure enough, something small and hard was snug inside. “How charitable of you.”

“I’m not feeling very charitable now,” he said, holding my eyes, his voice deepening with a gravelly edge. “I missed you, Angel. Not one day went by that I didn’t feel you missing from my life. You haunted me to the point that I began to believe Hank had gone back on his oath and killed you. I saw your ghost in everything. I couldn’t escape you and I didn’t want to. You tortured me, but it was better than losing you.”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Silence

“He grinned. “Busted. I’m a monster. Jev is my deceptively harmless — and shockingly handsome — alter ego.”

“And I’m on top of it,” she announced with witty triumph.

“Is that a Freudian slip?”

His bluntness caught her off guard. A self-conscious blush rose in her face.”
― Becca Fitzpatrick, Silence

“Vi?" Jag's soft voice called from the other room. I'd been soaking so long, the water in the tub was cold. I stepped out, careful not to get the book wet, and wrapped a towel around myself.
"In here," I whispered. He had switched the lamp on and was rubbing his eyes when I came into the bedroom.
"Hey."
I slipped the book back onto the table next to his bed. "I didn't get it wet."
"Not. That." His eyes raked over my only-towel-covered body with a hungry expression.
"Knock it off." I pulled the towel tighter and returned to the bathroom. He followed me, putting his hand on the door before I could close it. I looked anywhere but at him. Lying fully clothed in bed with him was bad enough.
I couldn't help it when I drank him in, starting at his feet and slowly creeping up to his neck, past his chin, lips, nose to his eyes. When I finally reached them, my heart clutched almost painfully. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat, playing with the end of my towel.
"Vi, babe-"
"Don't talk like that," I said.
He smiled his Jag-winner. I took a shuddering breath and tried to focus. "Don't smile like that either. It's not fair."
"Okay, then. Let's talk about being fair." He carefully wove his fingers through mine. The way he studied the ground was adorable. He took a few slow steps back into the bedroom, pulling me with him.
"Jag-”
― Elana Johnson, Possession