[He lifts his chin slightly to look at her over the top of the book itself, that familiar crooked smile of his in its place. His gaze moves along her form quite openly; she only has to stand there with her back to the door for his breath to catch in his throat, and he is astonished, not for the first time, at what an easy mark he's turned out to be.
'I won't beg,' he'd told her some weeks back. 'I'll accept this and go,' he'd told himself on more than one occasion. As it turns out, those were just words, and he can't even begin to bring himself to be sorry.
The book and its colorful contents are immediately forgotten, and he snaps it closed with one hand before setting it down on the bedspread beside him. It's hardly the first book of that nature he's picked up, and he's certain it won't be the last— fantastical though it may be, sometimes that's precisely what the heart wants.]
no subject
'I won't beg,' he'd told her some weeks back. 'I'll accept this and go,' he'd told himself on more than one occasion. As it turns out, those were just words, and he can't even begin to bring himself to be sorry.
The book and its colorful contents are immediately forgotten, and he snaps it closed with one hand before setting it down on the bedspread beside him. It's hardly the first book of that nature he's picked up, and he's certain it won't be the last— fantastical though it may be, sometimes that's precisely what the heart wants.]
I have now.