Lorenzo Gambini Quotes & Sayings

I would destroy that pussy."
"You think so?" I ask, those words making parts of me tingle that haven't come alive in quite a while, like a match being struck and finally finding a flame.
"Without a doubt," he says, not letting up. "I'd wreck you for any man that came along after me, put them all to shame, because I'd give you exactly what you wanted."
"How could you possibly know what I want?"
"Because," he says, grabbing a fistful of my hair and twisting my head, forcing me to turn away from him. "Looking at you is like looking in a mirror, Scarlet. — J.M. Darhower

Lorenzo Gambini, I presume? Or would you prefer to be called - "
"Sir," I cut in before he can say Scar. "You can call me sir, if it gives you the tingles. Otherwise, let's just stick with Gambini. — J.M. Darhower

Are you done crying now?" he asks.
I laugh again. "You're such an asshole."
"I was going to talk to you," he says, "but you might blow snot on me with all that blubbering. — J.M. Darhower

Tell your boss he can suck my cock," I say, shoving my chair back to stand up. "If he does a good enough job, maybe I won't blow his fucking brains out for calling me a thief. — J.M. Darhower

You're an asshole," she grumbles, lying down beside me, close enough to touch but we're not touching. She feels miles away right now, coldness settling in that space between us.
"Yeah, well, at least you know..."
"Yeah, and it's a pity, really, because I found myself starting to give a fuck about you."
She says nothing else.
I don't say anything, either.
We lay there in silence.
For once, I don't prefer it.
I want her to say something else, anything else, just to erase those words now assaulting my mind.
I found myself starting to give a fuck about you.
I don't like it, not at all, because as she says those words, I come to realize, in the moment, that feeling might be mutual. — J.M. Darhower

I look at him, not because he just told me to, but because of the word he used. Baby. It does the kind of thing to my chest that makes me feel uncomfortable - the squeezing, tightening, pitter-pattering bullshit. Ugh, knock it off, heart. You've got no business reacting to him. — J.M. Darhower

You speak Italian?" I ask.
"Some," he says, leaning down like he's going to kiss me, but instead he runs his nose along my jawline. "Why? You want me to talk dirty to you?"
"I, uh..." He's got me flustered as he grabs my hip, pulling me even closer. I shiver, feeling his warm breath on my skin. It's like he's breathing me in. "Well, I didn't, but I kind of do now."
He laughs. "Let's go upstairs, and I'll teach you all the dirty words you want."
I hum, tilting my head as his lips trace along my cheek. "All of them?"
His breath is against my ear as he whispers, "Every single one. — J.M. Darhower

Lorenzo saved my ass. Again.
"I got you," Lorenzo says. "How many times do I have to tell you that before you believe it?"
"Probably a few more times."
"And I thought I told you to stay out of trouble," he says, scolding me. "I even asked nicely."
"Yeah, well, the trouble with trouble is that it doesn't always look like trouble, Lorenzo."
"This was very obviously trouble, woman. — J.M. Darhower

His lips are the softest thing about him, warm and gentle, like a slice of heaven wrapped in hell, so worth battling the flames to feel his fire. — J.M. Darhower

I know he's just a man. A man with flaws. A man with his own problems. And I know he can't solve my problem. Not really. He can't fix what's wrong with me. Nobody can. They can't even understand. But being around him, it makes me feel things, things I've missed just as much as the music and the laughter, things that make me feel alive again. — J.M. Darhower

Morgan," he says, his voice quiet as he whispers my name. My name. "Open your eyes, baby. — J.M. Darhower

You think something's wrong?"
"I know something's wrong," I say. "Were you aware Five here hasn't watched Star Wars?"
"What?"
"Seriously, I can't wrap my head around it, so I'm going to need a few minutes. — J.M. Darhower

Welcome to the madhouse. Feel free to stay as long as you'd like, but as long as you're here, there are rules to be followed."
"Like?"
"Like betray me and I kill you. Lie to me and I kill you. Ignore an order and I kill you. Otherwise, do whatever the hell you want. You think you can handle that?"
"As long as you don't talk down to me because I'm a woman. You pull some misogynistic shit and I'll kill you. We got a deal?"
Those words, they do something to me, hearing that threat come from her lips, so at odds with that low, sultry voice. It makes me hard in an instant. — J.M. Darhower

I got you. It's okay."
I blink rapidly, my eyes burning, a lump in my throat that I'm struggling to swallow back.
"I got you," he says for the third time, "but I'm telling you, if you start fucking crying on me right now, if you start boo-hoo'ing, there's a chance I'll just throw you over the side myself, so don't do it. — J.M. Darhower

Truthfully, I'm not sure at all, but I'd never let anyone know that, not even Seven. And before you say shit, I'm well aware that I just told you, but you don't count so stop trying to inject yourself into the damn story. This is an important moment. — J.M. Darhower

She blinks at me like I've lost my mind. Hell, maybe I have. "Are you insane?"
"Potentially," I say. "You?"
"Am I insane?"
I nod.
"I'm starting to feel like it," she mutters, running her hands down her face. — J.M. Darhower

Patience has never been my strong suit.
I'm not exactly keen on waiting for anything.
Nor am I good at planning, for that matter.
I'm the shoot first, ask questions never type... you know, the kind to toss a grenade in a packed room to solve a personal problem? — J.M. Darhower

I'm not in the mood."
"When are you ever in the mood?" he asks.
"every other Friday and twice on Saturday."
"it's Saturday," he points out.
"Yeah, well, try again later," I say. "I'm not in the mood right now. — J.M. Darhower

It's torture, what he's doing. I can't see. I don't know. But his mouth is fully on me now, tongue doing whatever it does, flicking and licking, sucking and fucking, completely devouring me, like he's starving. — J.M. Darhower

Fuck," I groan, my voice gritty, my eyes closing as I tilt my head back. Her hand is warm, her skin velvety soft, but her touch is firm as she strokes, hitting just the right places to set me off. Her thumb massages the sweet spot on the underside of my cock, the sensitive outer ridges of the head, right where those nerve endings are bundled.
Jesus, this woman knows her anatomy.
A+
Top marks.
Summa cum laude.
Valedictorian of her motherfucking class. — J.M. Darhower

You have to be careful who you give pieces of yourself to, because even a little bit here and there adds up to a hell of a lot eventually, and It's not worth it, losing yourself to them, giving yourself to people who don't give a fuck about you. You keep pouring yourself into other people and you'll just wind up empty. — J.M. Darhower

He curves his fingers, hitting that sweet spot deep inside. The unicorn found the fucking Holy Grail.
Didn't even need a map.
He navigated right there. — J.M. Darhower

You want me to let you go?" I ask, leaning down, pausing just shy of her lips.
"Yes."
"Ask nicely," I tell her. "Say 'Lorenzo Gambini, I beg of you, please, let me go and I'll suck your dick.'"
She laughs again, harder. "You wish."
"I do," I say. "No doubt about it."
"Lorenzo Gambini," she whispers between kisses, "I beg of you, please... fuck me."
I kiss her once more before pulling back, shifting position, smirking. "Well, since you asked so nicely..."
I thrust hard, sliding right in first goddamn try.
BAM. — J.M. Darhower

I grasp her cheeks, framing her face with my hands, and stare her straight in the eyes, dead serious, as I say, "If you're going to start crying, I need you to not do it while you're sitting on my lap."
She lets out a light laugh, grabbing my wrists, pulling my hands away from her face, forcing my arms around her.
"I'm not going to cry," she says, fumbling between us, undoing my pants. "I'm going to show you my appreciation instead."
"You don't have to give pussy to show gratitude," I tell her. "A simple 'thanks' will suffice."
"I know," she whispers. "Thank you. But I want to give you pussy to show you I'm grateful, because the way I feel when you're inside of me? There's nothing else like it. You make me feel alive. — J.M. Darhower

What do you want, Morgan?" he asks after a moment, his voice low. "Just... tell me what you want from me. I can't stand here and do this with you."
"You named me," I say. That's not the first time I've heard him call me by my real name. Morgan. "You only name what you keep, remember? — J.M. Darhower

Mind your own business and you'll live hundred years. Problem is, you know, a hundred years is a long time. Do I really want to live that long? — J.M. Darhower

I close my eyes as he finger-fucks me. I whimper, groaning his name. "Lorenzo."
Pulling his hand away, he reaches for me, and I open my eyes in just enough time to see it as his fingers brush against my mouth. My lips part, and he pushes his fingers in, the taste of both of us on my tongue. — J.M. Darhower

What turns you on more?" he asks, his hands grasping my thighs as he pulls me up. "The fighting or the fucking? — J.M. Darhower

I've seen love bring a monster back to life before, but most of the time, the monster just loves you to death. — J.M. Darhower

There's something about you, Lorenzo," I say, shaking my head as I look away, unconsciously returning his smile. "Sometimes I think you might just be human."
"You're making shit weird again, Scarlet."
I roll my eyes. "Whatever. — J.M. Darhower

My wicked little belladonna, beautiful, deadly, so tempting to keep tasting but so goddamn toxic every touch is just too much. — J.M. Darhower

Love is a terrible excuse. It's dangerous to lose yourself in someone else. — J.M. Darhower

You and I, we can be the best of friends, but don't expect to find your fairy tale under my roof. You got me? — J.M. Darhower

He ignites something inside of me, stirring up these little sparks in my gut that send jolts through my body, like a defibrillator to the heart. — J.M. Darhower

Why would you be my friend? What do you get out of it?"
I consider that question as I sip from the bottle of rum, sitting back down in my chair. "The truth?"
"Please."
"I'm bored," I admit. "I came to the city because of a movie, too. The Godfather. But reality? It's nothing like it is in the movies. Most days we just sit around, waiting for something to happen. It's monotonous. The world, it's all in black and white, but you? You're so many shades of red, woman, and color me curious, but I find myself not so bored with your bullshit around. — J.M. Darhower

Three injured. Three dead.
That's what all the news reports said.
Six people caught bullets that night at Mystic - half of them died, while the other half lived.
The neurotic asshole that exists inside of me loves the symmetry of it. Three has always been my favorite number. Three books in a trilogy. Three sheets to the wind. They say the third time is the charm. Three strikes and you're out. Rock, paper, scissors... Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice... the good, the bad, and the ugly... need I go on?
Hell, there are three good Star Wars movies. I'll leave it up to you to figure out which ones I'm talking about.
They say deaths come in threes, too. — J.M. Darhower

For the first time in a long time, I feel this strange twinge inside of me. It's hard to describe. It's a tightening in my chest. It's a tingling in my fingertips. It feels as if my lungs are trembling, like the weak punk bitches are trying to stop functioning. The woman has got me all fucked up here, flipped upside down and inside out.
It's like the striking of a match.
All it needs is that spark. — J.M. Darhower

I happen to like my balls. They accentuate my cock quite nicely, you know. I'd show you, but well... you've got to earn that first. So pay attention, okay? There's work to do here. — J.M. Darhower

Yeah, well, it's really none of your business, is it?"
"No."
"There you go, then," she says, waving her juice at me before taking another swig. "Unless you're planning to lick it or stick it, Lorenzo, keep your nose out of my business. — J.M. Darhower

I love this dangerous, menacing asshole. — J.M. Darhower

Glancing up, I meet her gaze. "You can work on that mouth of yours."
"What's wrong with it?"
"It's running a little rough. Nothing a face-fucking can't fix, though."
Her eyes widen. "Big words for a guy who drinks Capri Sun."
I try to keep a straight face, but I crack at that, letting out a laugh. "Got me there. — J.M. Darhower

I'm starting to understand what everyone says about you."
"And what, pray tell, do they say? Don't leave me in suspense here."
"That there's something seriously wrong with you."
"Oh, well, I could've told you that. There's a lot wrong with me. — J.M. Darhower

I raise my hands, still clutching the grenade. They could try to take it from me, try to disarm me... hell, they could even go ahead and shoot me in the face... but they'd have four seconds to save themselves before we all got blown to pieces.
They take a few steps back, but nobody lowers their weapons, like guns are going to help them in this situation. Rock, paper, scissors, motherfuckers... you better take your pick and hope like hell you win. — J.M. Darhower

You'd be better off just drinking paint thinner," a voice says. It's playful and feminine with a tone that makes me think of home. Not that we talked like her in Florida, no, but her voice reminds me of warmth. It reminds me of sunshine. It reminds me of starry nights and cloudless days.
That's way too sappy, I know.
Don't tell anyone I said that shit. — J.M. Darhower

He's excitement. He's adrenaline.
He makes my heart do stupid shit.
Shit my heart shouldn't be doing.
Because everything that turns me on about him could also snuff me out. — J.M. Darhower

Got a job for you, Seven."
"Yeah?"
"I need you to find someone."
"Who?"
"A woman," I say. "About five and a half feet tall. Brown hair. Brown eyes."
"That describes half the women in New York."
"Yeah, well, the one I'm looking for is twenty-one or so," I say. "She's good-looking, kind of curvy for being so petite... got a red 'S' tattooed on her wrist..."
He stares at me, like he expects more information. "What else?"
I shrug, glancing at the high heels, flipping them over to look at the red soles. "She wears a size thirty-nine shoe."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"Shouldn't be too hard," he says, blinking a few times as he looks at the ground. "Only a couple million people in the city."
"That's the spirit," I say, slapping him on the back. — J.M. Darhower

He fucks me. It's powerful. Brutal. Hips slam into me from behind as he fills me deeply, over and over. Skin slapping noises echo through the room as he drives me into the table so hard it starts to move. I grip onto the edge of it, trying to hold on, trying to stay still, but he makes it impossible. Pain and pleasure merge inside of me, consuming me, and it doesn't take long before I start to grow numb. Tingles encompass me. My mind blanks out. Nothing exists except his cock inside of me, him on top of me, slamming into me from behind. I cry out with every deep thrust, incoherent noises, like everything inside of me is being purged. — J.M. Darhower

Go to your happy place. Go to the house, the one with the red door and the white picket fence. Go back to where nighttime meant kisses and hugs, bedtime stories and cuddles with Buster. Go to where sunrises were promises instead of just false hope. Go to where love still lives. — J.M. Darhower

Holy fuck. This man and those hands... he doesn't play fair. At all. He presses buttons he's got no business pressing. — J.M. Darhower

I want you gone," he says. "I want you out of my life. Out of my system. I don't want to spend another goddamn second thinking about you, wondering about you, worrying about you. I don't want to look at you, don't want to see you or smell you or taste you or hear you. I don't want this. Do you get that? I don't want any of this. It's driving me fucking insane. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't think. I hate this, whatever this is... whatever this bullshit is that I'm feeling because of you. Make it go away."
I just stare at him, because I don't know what to say to that. I don't know much of anything right now except what I'm feeling, and even that is hard to comprehend.
"You want the fairy tale," he continues. "You want the happy ending. You want the little boy to be a fucking bird so he can fly away and make everything okay, but I can't do it. I've told you that. It's not me."
"I know."
"So why the fuck are you here?"
"Because I love you anyway. — J.M. Darhower

I swear to God, if you throw yourself off this roof, I'm jumping after you, and I'm going to catch you."
Whoa. I don't know what to make of those words.
My eyes widen, my heart racing.
"I'll catch you," he says again, his face so close to mine I can feel his breath on my skin, "because in those few seconds before you hit the ground, I'm going to fucking choke the life out of you for doing that shit. You got me?"
"I got you," I whisper, surprised I can even speak. — J.M. Darhower

I scrub my hands over my face, groaning, as he makes his way up onto the roof. He's giving me whiplash. Dealing with him is the last thing I expected to be doing tonight, considering I just saw him this morning, but now he's here... well, he's up there... and it kind of just makes me want to be wherever he is. — J.M. Darhower

You're so goddamn beautiful."
Her eyes open, and she looks down at me, leaning closer, her voice shaky as she says, "It's been so long since somebody said that and I actually felt it. — J.M. Darhower

He's got a heart in his chest.
I see it when I look him in the eyes. I see the agony he feels. He's tortured, twisted, all tied up in knots. He's busy beating himself up inside. But most people don't see that, because they don't look at him. They turn away from the surface, terrified, because what he shows the world can be downright fucking scary. But if they just took a second to really see him, they'd know what I know.
They'd believe what I believe.
And what I believe is this man is far from being a monster. — J.M. Darhower

I've been told a time or two that I spiral.
Zero to sixty in the blink of an eye.
One second, I'm perfectly fine, laughing, smiling. The next, I've got my hands around someone's throat, choking the life out of them.
There's probably a name for whatever's wrong with me, but I've got no interest in a diagnosis. I don't need treatment. Until people stop being ignorant, I'm going to keep on getting pissed. No little mood-stabilizing pill can stop that from happening.
But still, sometimes, I can feel it. I feel myself spiraling hard, and falling far, making mountains out of molehills that even I struggle to climb.
And today? I'm feeling it.
My hands shake.
I can hardly see straight. — J.M. Darhower

And what, you think you can fix me?" she asks, turning in her stool to face me, shifting her body closer, so close I can smell the liquor on her warm breath as she whispers, "Think you can make me whole again? Save me from the world? Save me from myself? Fill me up, maybe fuck the feeling back into me, like the big, strong, man you are? Make me a real woman, instead of a broken little girl?"
There's a sickening sweetness to her voice that sends a chill down my spine. If I never heard a thinly veiled 'fuck you' before, that was certainly one for the books. I move closer to her, uncomfortably so, cocking my head slightly as I lean in, watching as her body tenses. She thinks I'm about to kiss her, my mouth just inches from hers, before I stop, my voice gritty as I say, "On the contrary, Scarlet, I don't think you need to be fixed at all."
"No?"
"No," I say. "I think you're perfect the way you are. — J.M. Darhower

Maybe love made you kiss all messy. Maybe love made you hungry for faces. — J.M. Darhower

Do you at least like The Force Awakens?"
He stares at me. "I haven't seen it."
"Wait, what? How can you call yourself a fan if you haven't even seen the new movie?"
"I've been a bit busy lately," he says. "Dealing with you has taken up a lot of my free time."
"Oh, whatever. That's bullshit. You had enough free time to put together a gazillion piece puzzle. You've got time to watch a movie, and you know it. I'm just... I'm ashamed of you. Legitimately ashamed."
"I'm guessing it's good, then?"
"Oh, I don't know." I shrug. "I haven't watched it. Been too busy."
Lorenzo pulls my hand away from his face and laughs.
Genuinely laughs. — J.M. Darhower

Whenever I close my eyes, I see her. Scarlet. I see her smiling. I see her crying. I hear her laughter flowing through me, sending chills down my spine. The sound of her moaning creeps through my bloodstream, the face she makes in the throes of passion the pulse that spurs it on. Whatever this is I'm feeling, I want it to stop. I want it to go away. I want to stop fucking seeing her every time I blink. I want to stop fucking thinking about her every time I pause to take a deep breath. She's like an infection that's settling into my chest. I would rip out my own organs if I thought it might purge her from my system. — J.M. Darhower

You keep being so charming and I might start catching feelings."
"I wouldn't blame you," I say. "Just, you know, keep them to yourself, in case they're contagious."
"Don't worry," she says. "I practice safe sentiment. I'll be sure to wrap it before I yap it."
I laugh at that. This goddamn woman. She's got a mouth on her, without a doubt, the kind of mouth that's destined to get her in a lot of trouble in life. — J.M. Darhower

As soon I stop moving, Scarlet lays down on top of me, nuzzling into my neck, her breasts pressing against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, stroking her back, still balls deep inside her pussy.
It's a strange sensation.
Cuddling.
We're fucking cuddling.
What the hell happened to my life? — J.M. Darhower

Swinging the spatula, he smacks Leo in the head, the loud thwack echoing though the kitchen. "Shit!" Leo winces, "What the hell was that for?"
"The table isn't set," Lorenzo says. "What are we, animals?"? — J.M. Darhower

Scar. I still don't know his real name. The man's like Beetlejuice... or hell, maybe he's Voldemort. He's fucking Bloody Mary. Don't dare say his name or he might show up. — J.M. Darhower

The woman's touch is witchcraft. It's a sin to give in, but seeing as sinning is my specialty, I let her dark magic consume me, because what do I have to lose? — J.M. Darhower