Tristan gave him a scathing look. “Where’s your fiancee?” “I don’t have a fiancee,” Zach said. “Not anymore.” Tristan seemed to stop breathing. He just stared.

There’s no such thing as normal. There is no definition of normal. Normal is subjective. You can’t – and shouldn’t – force yourself to want something ‘normal’ and stop wanting what you truly want. It’s a sure way to make your life miserable.

Tristan would be the first to admit he had very few moral principles, but there was one he never broke: he never got involved with a married man.

Unhurriedly, Roman unzipped his trousers with his free hand and pulled himself out. Luke.

One’s capacity for love wasn’t limited.

You should have made me give the goddamn key back.

Sometimes love isn’t pretty. It’s not neat, and it’s not textbook perfect. There’s no template for love. Sometimes it’s dirty. Sometimes it’s a bit creepy. And sometimes it hurts.

Roman had never thought a male could affect him the same way, yet this young man with his obscenely pretty lips and natural submissiveness did, and Roman had found himself wanting to do wicked things to him for hours before tucking him in. He.

You said it was just lust and that you could control it. When he got upset, you didn’t behave like a man in lust, Zach. You behaved like a concerned boyfriend.

Roman grabbed his head and kissed him, pouring his anger into the greedy kiss. Damn.