"You're atheist," I remind him. "You don't believe in god." "I believe in you," He murmurs, letting the cigarette hang from his lips. "I believe in whatever you believe." He says, letting the confession roll off his tongue as if it were that simple. As if god, the devil, heaven, hell-as if none of it really had meaning to him. "That's not how it works," I mutter as we walk down a few more alleyways-the city of Manhattan coated in a light blanket of snow. Henry Vitiello had never had anything to pray for, that is, until he met me-the only thing that had ever opened his mind up to the possibility of religion "Isn't it?" He argues, taking the cigarette by his middle and pointer finger before blowing the smoke out. "I'II dip my hands in holy water if it means I could touch you." "You'd probably burn." 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, the reaper. He's a prick. An asshole. A pretentious son of a bitch. He's not perfect. He's not even decent. But he's hers. She could be a bottle labeled poison but he was an alcoholic, and he had drunk her empty. Now he was hungover. 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, the healer. She's known to be the perfect good girl, with perfect grades and a perfect life with a perfect family. They didn't know that behind the gated doors of their billion dollar estate, she was strapped down to a chair every night and picked apart just to be put back together in time for supper. 𓆩♡𓆪 star-crossed; adjective (of a person or a plan) thwarted by bad luck. 'star-crossed lovers' and that, they were. So they fucked under those very stars that tried so desperately to break them apart. 𓆩♡𓆪 ‼️DISCLAIMER ‼️ BOOK REFERENCES TO MARA DYER, SHATTER ME, MIND FUCK, ETC ARE ALL INTENTIONAL SO DONT BE RUDE. AS FOR TRIGGER WARN

[COMPLETED] "I'm so lonely, Angel." I tell her from my seated position, looking up at her. "I just want to be loved, please." She strokes my cheek and smiles gently. "I'm here now." It's been three years since Camil has seen his family and the girl that he met at the hospital. He's gone down a dark path and there's only one person who can show him the light. One person that can make him whole again. His Angel. *SPIN OFF TO IN CONTROL* It's definitely advised that you read the first book otherwise you may be slightly confused.

[COMPLETED] "You're so beautiful." He whispers, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip. "It's a shame you won't be so much when I'm finished with you. I'm gonna play you like a piano, my precious girl." "We shouldn't be doing this Cyrus." I whisper staring up at him. His face hardens and he slips his thumb in between my lips. "Open your legs for me, pretty baby." In which a dominant, thirty year old man, who has never been in a serious relationship, becomes infatuated with a twenty-three year old black girl.