“Again,” she breathes. It’s barely a word, barely a whisper, barely a command. But it’s one I’m happy to follow. She doesn’t want to hear a stranger reciting Shakespeare’s Sonnets. She wants verses— biting, passionate ones—and she wants them from me. It’s laughable when I think about it. But I’m not laughing, and neither is she. It’s hard to, when her eyes darken and her breath catches and lust cracks like a lightning strike through every nerve in my body. Rated: Explicit