Hulya Kara Yuksel

“You look handsome,” I said, staring at his tie. The swelling caused my eyes to squint permanently. “But I never want to see you in a suit again. If I die first, wear jeans and your cowboy hat to my funeral.” “On one condition,” he said, taking my hand and leading me out of the field. “What’s that?” “You let me die first.” I stopped, tightening my grip on his hand so he would stop too. He turned, eyes narrowed. “I can’t lose you,” I whispered. His expression softened, and he brushed his knuckles along my cheek. “That’s my line.” He kissed me, and I released his hand to wrap my arms around his neck.”
― Jewel E. Ann, Sunday Morning

“Are you playing my guitar tonight?” “Yes.” I unbuckled. “Good. Lock your bedroom door and play it naked.” I swallowed hard, but that’s all the reaction—the satisfaction—I gave him. “And why is that?” I laughed it off, reaching for the door handle. “Because I want to think about something of mine pressed to your naked body, giving you pleasure.” Jesus … Sorry, God. I mean gee whiz.”
― Jewel E. Ann, Sunday Morning

“I don’t know who needs to hear this, but... Dump his ass. You deserve better.”
― Brit Benson, The Love of My Next Life

“I rolled my eyes. Why did my boyfriend have to be so smart? He remembered how long a woman’s menstrual cycle lasted, but he didn’t remember the location of the clitoris?”
― Jewel E. Ann, Sunday Morning