What are you doing?” I asked. “Are we getting all Fifty Shades up in here?”
He shushed me. “Nothing that dangerous. You won’t need a safe word.

We fell into each other’s arms and kissed like we were coming up for air after being underwater for days. The melding of our mouths was sweeter than oxygen. We took huge, deep gulps of each other as we struggled with worldly constraints like clothing and gravity, seeking to transcend it all in our coming together.

Does he tell you that you’re all
he thinks about? Does he tell you that he lives for you?
That he breathes for you? That he dreams of you every
damn moment, awake and asleep? Does he tell you any
of that?’ He pauses to look at me and I try to keep a blank
face. ‘No, I didn’t think so,’ he says quietly.

My knees were weak but he held me with one hand, guiding me with the motion of his hips. I was completely his to do with what he wanted and he knew it.

In a typical college romance novel, he'd be a gorgeous but troubled sex god who'd cure all my deep-seated psych issues with a good hard fuck. I'd smell his misogyny and abusive tendencies from miles off but my brain would turn to hormone soup because abs. That's the formula. Broken girl + bad boy = sexual healing. All you need to fix that tragic past is a six-pack. More problems? Add abs.

It's Magic Dick Lit.

We were a galaxy exploding into a million pieces, creating a whole new world, as we crashed against each other on the soft surface of his mattress, a cloud in the darkness, our bodies finally falling together like rain.