“He would reach for me in the middle of the night, nearly every single night, wrapping one of those solid arms around my waist and pulling me in close. So. Close.” — Chelsie Shakespeare Copy Share Image
“Would the bastard ever call? Smoke drifted from the ashtray where a fine Cohiba lay unattended. Several burned-out butts crowded the glass, competing for space. The man looked at his watch. Had it been done? He smashed the lit cigar… — J.T. Ellison Copy Share Image
