3 Quotes by Alyne Hart

Dean King was nothing out of a fairy tale. Which is probably why the vision of him never failed to make the skin of my cheeks fill with a hot, red blush—and why my fourteen-year-old daydreams were always of him shirtless, offering to be my very first kiss.

Forrest would fucking kill me if he knew I was mentally undressing his little sister and envisioning what she might look like all fragile and purring like a kitten beneath me.Hell. Forrest might try and fucking kill me regardless.

Fire smolders. Flickers playfully, sending embers flying like a sparkling, hot fountain of orange against the dark purple of night.Dean King is fire.And I am rain.