Thea Harrison

But Khalil had shattered her understanding of what it meant to make love. She had reformed into someone else, a humble stranger to herself.

“There you are,” a deep, quiet voice said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re a baby, nothing but a moment, a heartbeat.”

In the series of surprises he had encountered since coming aware of her, he came to another first in his long bad life as he discovered reverence

There was only him, the destroyer of her world, and she hung on to him with everything she had

He rested his cheek against her head and rubbed her back. “I am cursed with a terminal case of curiosity,” he said. “I am jealous, selfish, acquisitive, territorial and possessive. I have a terrible temper, and I know I can be a cruel son of a bitch.” He cocked his head. “I used to eat people, you know.”

His head jerked up. He had one of the most startling and unwelcome thoughts of the last century.
Am I a boyfriend?

“You’re like a rubber ball with no bounce,” he said. He cradled her cheek in one large palm. “A worm that’s lost its wiggle.”

He was more than twice her size. He was as big as a moose, and as he was wrapped around her, he felt exactly like the right size. He felt like home.

He was carving himself into the deepest, most secret places inside of her, and she felt herself reforming in response. She was Galatea, made of stone, coming to life as he fashioned her.