Scandalous Lj Shen Quotes

You’re mine, and you hate it. You’re mine, and I’m not a wave you can ride. I’m the fucking ocean. ~ Trent

If you want to be strong, be.

Because sometimes, our favorite things are the ones that make us cry.

I’m so fucking in love with you, Edie Van Der Zee, I don’t know where I end and where you begin anymore. I love you despite knowing that it is crazy. That our situations are disastrous. I love you knowing that you should have at least a few more experiences before you find the love.

She’s a maze with no escape. An ethereal, steady pulse. She’s there, but just barely. I love her so much I sometimes hate her. And it terrifies me, because deep down, I know what she is. An unsolvable puzzle. And I know who I am. The idiot who would try to fix her. At any cost.

Whatever we were, we were toxic. A lullaby on a thoroughly scratched record that keeps hiccuping again and again on the line that you hate. This can’t happen. This can’t happen. This won’t happen.

You’re my Delilah, Edie, and I’m your Samson. You want to ruin me, destroy me, strip me of my power, and betray me. I should stay away from you, but I want you too fucking much. And when it’s all over, when all that’s left of us is sweaty flesh and shattered minds and torn hearts, you will remember me as the man who made you cry, and I’ll remember you as the girl I had to break to stay afloat.

Even the biggest wave crashes. You're about to hit the sand. I hope you like the taste of dust.

He looked at me like I was the moon. Pale and lonely and so far away.

At the end of the day, life was not a game of chess. Life was fucking Jenga.

I should warn you, Edie. I’m not the prince in this fairy tale. I’m the villain. The poisonous apple, the flame-breathing monster.

She’s in my fucking blood,

Trent Rexroth wasn't a crush. He was the very thing that'd end up crushing me if I wasn't careful.

breaking was necessary in order to rebuild yourself.

Are you calm now?” Trent’s voice caressed the crown of my head. “Physically, yes. But we’re entering danger territory. I’ve never been in waters so deep.” I squeezed my eyes shut, suddenly afraid of being so frank. “Neither have I, but I’m a good swimmer. And, Edie? You’re an excellent surfer.

He never fucked you like I do, and we both know that.

And please, before you say anything, never underestimate a broken person. We’re unpredictable, because once you’re broken—what’s one more crack?

How can it feel this good?” she nearly protested, reaching with her hand to touch me again. I moved away quickly, still playing with her tit. “Because it's different when you're in the hands of a man.

Next time you make a joke about someone else fucking you, just remember I own every single hole in your body, including the one I’ll leave in your heart when I’m done.

We’re all responsible for our own lives. Dumping the blame on someone else is for the weak.

Trent was tall, built, and tan. His black hair was buzzed close to the scalp, marines-style, and he wore charcoal slacks, a collared white shirt, and a vintage Rolex. Gorgeous prick. Stunning, arrogant bastard.

My father asked me about Rexroth, my mom asked me about my father, and no one asked me about me. Or Theo. Or surfing.

I can't breathe when I think about the things I want to do to you, and I breathe too fast when I think about the things I want you to do to me,

Sonder is the realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own.

Why did you want me alone? You say you can’t touch me, but you almost do. All the time. Last night, you lost control. Tomorrow, you will do it again, because we can’t stop this. Whatever it is, it is happening. You tell me I can’t sleep with other people, but you don’t give me what

You fight the tide. You fling your arms, kicking your legs, trying to escape it, overpower it. The secret is to go with the flow. The secret is to ride the wave. Don’t be afraid to get wet.

and if you need a helping hand, you know mine is good for more than fingering.

I need. Give it to me, Trent, or I will find it elsewhere.

He came to me in pieces, like a painting in the works. His gray-blue eyes were the first to pop out from behind the fog of fear. They were sapphire and silver swirled together, the color of a moonstone. Next was his straight nose and symmetrical lips, his cheekbones sharp enough to cut diamonds. He was pungently masculine and intimidating in his looks, but that was not what made me recognize him immediately. It was what rolled off of him in dangerous quantities, the menace and the ruggedness. He was a dark knight made of coarse material. Cruel in his silence and punishing in his confidence.

I’d finally found him. The one man scarier than my father. Not that I was looking. Because while Vicious made a lot of noise, Trent Rexroth was the silent hunter who would circle you for hours, striking when you least expect it.

A trip down memory lane would remind me I hadn't always been this old, this bitter, this fucked-up.

Sweet? Maybe. Yours? No,

I wanted what was forbidden, and wrong, and fucking crazy. I wanted my partner's daughter, who was nearly half my age.

it’s cute how you think you’re my enemy. You’re not on my level.

Seahorses are Luna's favorite animal because the male seahorse is the only animal in nature to carry the baby and not the mother. The male seahorse is the one to incubate the offspring. To fall pregnant. To nest.

He was pungently masculine and intimidating in his looks, but that was not what made me recognize him immediately. It was what rolled off of him in dangerous quantities, the menace and ruggedness. He was a dark knight made of coarse material. Cruel in his silence and punishing in his confidence. I'd only met him once, at a barbecue at Dean Cole's house a few weeks ago, and we hadn't spoken a word to each other. He hadn't spoken a word to anyone. Trent Rexroth.

The only time I’d seen him looking at someone—really looking at as opposed to past—was when his lavender-haired, boho-looking wife and cute son had visited the office last week. He’d looked at them with ferocious protectiveness. Like they made his soul both hungry and satisfied at the very same time. Everyone deserves to be looked at that way.

Seahorses prefer to swim in pairs with their tails linked together. They’re one of the rare monogamous animals, and engage in an eight-hour courtship dance which, among other things, includes swimming side by side and changing colors. They’re romantic, elegant, and fragile. Just like love. They remind us that love is meant to be wild, just like the ocean.

knew we would do it the way we both liked. Like animals. With our clothes still on, the dry hay sticking to our sweaty skin, hard slaps of skin against skin reminding us there was nothing pretty or elegant in how we wanted one another. We would have sex the way nature intended us to. With no dignity, or pride, or shame.

Wait.” I dumped my backpack on his floor and kicked off my Docs. “Spaghetti and FroYo are supposed to be treats?” He stared at me, dead in the eye, not flinching. “Yes. Don’t give her too much of it.” “Wow, are you, like, on C-R-A-C-K,” I spelled, walking over to the island to stand next to him, “or are you simply a product of the Soviet regime? This is not splurging. I wanna order pizza.” He shrugged into his blazer. “You’re not. And by the way, she knows how to spell.

ocean.

At the end of the day, life was not a game of chess. Life was fucking Jenga. You tried winging through it, hoping it wouldn't fall down in spectacular fashion and bury you.

My daughter was beautiful and the world was ugly and I didn't know how to help her. And it killed me like cancer. Slowly. Surely. Savagely.

for

I closed my eyes and imagined that his voice was a wave. I rode it all the way to a smile.

But imperfection is where we thrive. In the dark alleyways of society where we first met. I take her face in my hands and kiss her again, our teeth clashing together. Imperfect.

I couldn’t believe something so pretty could hurt me so badly. So I decided to keep it. Because sometimes, our favorite things are the ones that make us cry.

My daughter was beautiful and the world was ugly and I didn’t know how to help her.

There won't be a next Rosie. And there won't be another story like ours. This is it, Rose LeBlanc. And this is us. If there is no you, then there is no me.

That night, I watched Edie for far too long. That night, I’d changed. That night, I didn’t take anything from Edie Van Der Zee. For the first time in years—I gave something of myself. Worst part? I’d never be able to retrieve it. It was hers. Forever.

Who doesn’t like bread?” “Someone who likes their six-pack.” Spoken like the true conceited bastard I was. Luna’s eyes flew to Edie in alarm, and she put her hand on my daughter’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Luna. We don’t need a six-pack. Life is too short to deny yourself a peanut butter, jelly, and cheddar cheese party.

It was creepy, but when you thought about it—when you really, truly put some thought into it—a lot of the stuff grown-ups found intimidating were kids’ favorite things. Because kids, unlike their parents, watch the world sans the tainted lens of preconception and intolerance. Kids are not racist. Kids are not judgmental. Kids don’t care that your car costs twice the annual salary of the average American. Kids are fun. Kids are pure.

I should warn you, Edie. I’m not the prince in this fairy tale. I’m the villain. The poisonous apple, the flame-breathing monster.” “Good. I always enjoyed the broken in the fairy tales better. The apple always looked shinier because I knew it could destroy me. The villain was just damaged and misunderstood, and the monster…” I leaned on my tiptoes, biting the tip of his ear, just barely reaching his impossible height. “I always kept the door to my closet a little ajar as a kid to make sure it could come out in case it wanted to play.

What’s insane about this—other than the fact we’ve never talked about it, not even once—is that I’m not nervous in any way. Just excited. We already feel like a married couple, and I say that in the best, non-boring way possible. He is stability and love. Security and confidence. I’m his tide, and he’s my anchor. Or maybe the sand itself. “Edie Van Der Zee, I want to dip my toes in the waves you make every single day for the rest of my miserable life. I want to fuck you—just you, only you, no one else—and a lot. Every. Single. Day. I want to live with you. I want to parade that fucked-up thing we have that keeps people raising eyebrows and thinking I’m a cradle-snatching douchebag, because fuck ’em, they’ll never have what we have. Will you marry me? I don’t ask for a lot. Not for kids, not for dinner, not for anything to be done in the house. I don’t ask you for anything other than what you’re willing to give me.” Luna peeks from the door, smiling. I turn my body to her, smiling. I expect her to sign me something. Something like “aw, gross,” or “Daddy is being silly again”. But she doesn’t. Instead, she arches one eyebrow, opens her lips, and lets the words fall out, awarding her father with the best present he could ever have. “Say yes.

Then he flipped me over, my stomach pressed against the hay, my ass in the air. It was so quick, I didn’t have time to fathom the fact he tore my panties off of my body. They ripped at the seam on one side, and I cried out at the sudden discomfort, clutching the stack of straw, trying to whip my head around and see what he was doing. He quickly grabbed my jaw and turned it so I faced the floor. Then he shoved one, two…three fingers into my pussy, one after the other. He curled his middle finger, immediately hitting my G-spot. He thrust cruelly, making me squirm, every bone in my body screaming at me to get away. Don’t beg. Don’t ask for more. I already wanted too much. My spine was a candlewick, melting slowly and hotly. My first climax felt wild, unnatural. Like I was bursting at the seams, my body like a too-tight corset. Pop, pop, pop, muscles tensing, belly-clenching, toes curling, every organ in my body—his. The warmth was unbearable. Too much and not enough. I was going to explode into little atoms, into minuscule cells, and the worst part was that with Trent, I knew he wouldn’t put me back together afterwards. Shaking like my body wasn’t mine anymore, I came on his fingers, feeling myself dripping. He pulled out his hand, wiping all of my arousal on his cock, which he fisted in his palm.

Trent kissed my nose softly, his forehead dropping to mine. “I love you,” he said, cupping my neck from both sides and shaking his head in exasperation, like this was a mistake. Like he shouldn’t be loving me, but had no other choice. My heart swelled. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Edie Van Der Zee, I don’t know where I end and where you begin anymore. I love you despite knowing that it is crazy. That our situations are disastrous. I love you knowing that you should have at least a few more experiences before you find the love. I love you even though we’re not at the same place in life, have nothing in common, and started off so fucking bad. And still, I love you.” “I love you.” I sniffed, holding back my tears, pressing my forehead deeper to his. “I love how fierce you are when it comes to the people you care about. I love that you’re so aware of your flaws. I love that you fight them. I even love it when you succumb to them. I love every single part of you. The good and the bad. And I will never love anyone else the way I do you, because it’s not about my age. It’s about my heart. It belongs to you. Trent Rexroth, you’re my ocean. You make me wet.” He grinned, pulling me into a tight hug. “I would have come for you, Van Der Zee, even if you had given him the flash drive. Even if you threw me in the lion’s den. And I promise to never stop making you wet, my Little Tide. Promise to always keep you drenched.

And it was funny, how people viewed Edie as the kid because of her age, when she’d been nothing but a lioness throughout her short life.

Trent kissed my nose softly, his forehead dropping to mine. “I love you,” he said, cupping my neck from both sides and shaking his head in exasperation, like this was a mistake. Like he shouldn’t be loving me, but had no other choice. My heart swelled. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Edie Van Der Zee, I don’t know where I end and where you begin anymore. I love you despite knowing that it is crazy. That our situations are disastrous. I love you knowing that you should have at least a few more experiences before you find the love. I love you even though we’re not at the same place in life, have nothing in common, and started off so fucking bad. And still, I love you.” “I love you.” I sniffed, holding back my tears, pressing my forehead deeper to his. “I love how fierce you are when it comes to the people you care about. I love that you’re so aware of your flaws. I love that you fight them. I even love it when you succumb to them. I love every single part of you. The good and the bad. And I will never love anyone else the way I do you, because it’s not about my age. It’s about my heart. It belongs to you. Trent Rexroth, you’re my ocean. You make me wet.” He grinned, pulling me into a tight hug. “I would have come for you, Van Der Zee, even if you had given him the flash drive. Even if you threw me in the lion’s den. And I promise to never stop making you wet, my Little Tide. Promise to always keep you drenched.

Ти мій океан.

I gravitated toward him like he was the sun. A beautiful pleasure conceived by nature that could very well kill you if you got too close. He looked at me like I was the moon. Pale and lonely and so far away.

Ugly or not, I could still kiss you if I wanted to, and you’d let me.” I choked on the rich cocoa in my mouth, my book dropping to the ground and closing without a bookmark. Shoot. “Why would you ever think that?” I’d turned to him, scandalized. He’d leaned close, one flat chest to another. He’d smelled of something foreign and dangerous and wild. Of golden California beaches, maybe. “Because my dad told me good girls like bad boys, and I’m bad. Really bad.

People think that children who are the product of a divorce have fucked-up relationships. They’re wrong. People who are the product of broken homes try really fucking hard not to repeat their parents’ mistakes, because they know the misery of a loveless house.

People think that children who are the product of a divorce have fucked-up relationships. They’re wrong. People who are the product of broken homes try really fucking hard not to repeat their parents’ mistakes, because they know the misery of a loveless house.

I used the word fuck as a verb, adverb, noun, and a simple decoration in every other sentence. If I could marry it, I most likely would. Yet I hated that it left his mouth, and hated it even more that it was directed at her. Mostly, I loathed that the tool was wearing a hoodie so I couldn’t even see the goddamn face I was about to smash with my fist.

Threatening to rat out an eighteen-year-old to her parents was some sort of rock bottom, surely. At the same time, she didn’t need this. Smoking pot and fucking in a public place. Make no mistake, I’d done exactly that at her age. Oh, well. I never said I was above being a fucking hypocrite.

Hey, now, old man. Chill your calcium-deprived bones and stop treating her like crap, or I’ll have to kick your ass.

For the next forty minutes, Luna and I learned everything there was to know about seahorses. We watched a male seahorse giving birth to a gazillion baby seahorses and laughed. She laughed because there were so many. I did because it looked like a man shooting his load after watching the filthiest porn ever recorded.

I wanted to get wet and let the tide wash over me without dipping a toe in the ocean. I wanted what was forbidden, and wrong, and fucking crazy. I wanted my partner’s daughter, who was nearly half my age.

For what it’s worth, I think you don’t have it covered, and if you need a helping hand, you know mine is good for more than fingering.” “Disgusting, but thank you.

You should have seen the stare down between him and Vicious. Vicious straight up asked him if he was his Made-in-China version.

Did you hear that, fuckface? You finally got someone to love your cold ass. You need to put that shit on lockdown because she is still young and naïve enough to like you.

The ocean is her drug. She is mine.

His six-pack was the kind of glorious that needed a Times Square billboard to celebrate it.

Whatever we were, we were toxic. A lullaby on a thoroughly scratched record that keeps hiccupping again and again on the line that you hate.

I couldn’t believe something so pretty could hurt me so badly. So I decided to keep it. Because sometimes, our favorite things are the ones that make us cry

I am not your boyfriend, sweetheart Then what are you? Your undoing

I want to hurt you Then do, hurt me Trent, I love your wrath on my skin

I think I'm ready for a dynasty