The Truth Is, Normal Might Take Years.

You Belong To The Biblical Race Of Nephilim. Your Real Father Was An Angel Who Fell From Heaven. You're Half Mortal." The Boy's Dark Eyes Lifted, Meeting Chauncey's. "half Fallen Angel." Chauncey's Tutor's Voice Drifted Up From The Recesses Of His Mind, Reading Passages From The Bible, Telling Of A Deviant Race Created When Angels Cast From Heaven Mated With Mortal Women. A Fearsome And Powerful Race. A Chill That Wasn't Entirely Revulsion Crept Through Chauncey. "who Are You?

First,” He Said, Coming Behind Me And Placing His Hands On The Counter, Just Outside Of Mine, “choose Your Tomato.” He Dipped His Head So His Mouth Was At My Ear. His Breath Was Warm, Tickling My Skin. “good. Now Pick Up The Knife.” “does The Chef Always Stand This Close?” I Asked, Not Sure If I Liked Or Feared The Flutter His Closeness Caused Inside Me. “when He’s Revealing Culinary Secrets, Yes.

I Want To Wake Up With You Every Morning And Fall Asleep Beside You Each Night,” Patch Told Me Gravely. “i Want To Take Care Of You, Cherish You, And Love You In A Way No Other Man Ever Could. I Want To Spoil You — Every Kiss, Every Touch, Every Thought, They All Belong To You. I’ll Make You Happy. Every Day, I’ll Make You Happy.

I Should Probably Confess That Ice Cream Is My Favorite Food, And I Eat It Every Night. When I Go Grocery Shopping, I Try To Buy A New Flavor, Rather Than Reverting Back To A Favorite Flavor. I'm On A Mission To Taste Every Flavor Of Ice Cream Out There!

You Dress To Impress," I Said Approvingly. "no, Angel." He Leaned In, His Teeth Softly Grazing My Ear. "i Undress To Impress.